


i see us.

by tooschoolforcool



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (all in the past though), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Bisexual Character, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, The Author Goes Absolutely Ham With Headcanons, Time Travel, but the lines are blurry, more like future prediction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 72,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23692660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooschoolforcool/pseuds/tooschoolforcool
Summary: The visions had started small- a flash of Tim, not as Jon knew him, but with pockmarked scars marring his skin. A moment of an unusual feeling of fondness towards Sasha that didn't feel like Jon himself, but someone else's left over affection. It hadn't taken him long to realize his knowledge was... bleeding over, in unexpected ways. He adjusts his actions accordingly.His archival assistants just want to know what the hell is going on.or//“No! Something… else. Something really strange,” Martin sat down at his desk, leaning his chin into one hand. “He… smiled? At me?”“Really says something about him that that’s a real cause for alarm,” Tim quipped loudly from the other side of the room.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 830
Kudos: 1589
Collections: Great Time Travel Fics, RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. growing strangeness

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the first fanfiction i've written in years, and i have a shit memory so i'm definitely going to get timelines wrong. if i mess anything up, well, it's an AU, so... anyway here's some self-indulgency. it'll get fluffier the longer it goes on i promise

Something was going on with Jon.

Not the general air that he carried himself with, something that screamed ‘avoid at all costs’, that was normal. Any attempt at conversation with Jon was met with a curt and frankly insulting dismissal at best, and at worst simply a scathing look that expressed without words how much of a timewaster he thought your small talk was. Tim and Sasha had made something of a bet of it, once- how long can you get Jon to hold a conversation? Sasha won, of course, by cheerily asking Jon if he had ever watched a show called Ghost Hunters UK. A solid uninterrupted twenty minute ‘conversation’ of Jon monologing about proper evidence, pseudo-science, and how absolutely ridiculous he found the entire thing ensued. He was so distracted by ranting he didn’t even notice the $20 bill exchanging hands. 

It wasn’t the bags under his eyes, how rail-thin he always was, or how it was extremely rare Martin ever saw him leave the Institute before the late hours of the night. For a while, the most common joke amongst the assistants was that Jon lived in the Institute. It was always a joking tone, nothing to suggest anyone actually believed it, but nonetheless Martin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Jon leave on time for once, crossing his fingers the man would get a decent night of sleep. 

All of this, Martin was used to. Tim seemed to think it was relatively normal- he had worked with Jon before the promotion as a research assistant, and Jon had apparently always been a cactus of a person. Prickly and not advisable to hug. Sasha had something of a soft spot for the man, despite how Martin had quickly become aware the position of head archivist definitely should have gone to her. Jon seemed to reserve any of the little warmth he had for her, gracing her alone with any of his rare smiles whenever she did a particularly good job researching a case or following up on a lead. Martin did his best to measure up, but his findings were much more often met with a dismissive grunt or, to his chagrin, a scolding session on some missed hint or forgotten protocol. 

At first, Martin had felt a deep sense of pity for Jon. The man seemed to have no friends, no life outside of work, and no sense of responsibility to care for himself outside of what kept him alive. Martin, who prided himself in being the best sort of caretaker, had thought of him as sort of a project. As he got to know Jon further, it developed into what was definitely the beginnings of a crush. Martin had no doubts Jon did not return his feelings. He had confessed to Tim, hoping for some sort of advice, and received only a raised eyebrow and a comment about how he needed higher self esteem. He had resigned himself to simply bringing Jon tea despite the scathing looks Jon tended to shoot at him, and attempting to occasionally hint at Jon to take a nap every once in a while, firmly telling himself to ignore how he couldn’t stop staring at Jon’s eyelashes, or hoping one of those rare small smiles would be earned by him. 

And then something changed. Jon before, while yes, occasionally smiling at Sasha, still hadn’t shown anything close to a genuine interest in befriending her or Tim or Martin for that matter. Judging on how he reacted when they tried to throw him a birthday party, or show any attempt in getting to know him, the assistants had come to the consensus of backing off. This left Martin as somewhat of a third wheel. Tim and Sasha, while remaining decidedly unofficial, nevertheless acted a lot more coupley than they claimed, and Martin tended to spend lunch breaks alone at his desk, listening to Jon’s quiet voice as he recorded statements and immediately mocked those who made them. 

And then Jon started leaving the door to his office open. It was a tiny change, but for Jon, this was huge. Martin could count on one hand the number of times Jon hadn’t solidly closed the door behind him and not emerged before 10 pm. He could see Jon tapping his fingers against the wood as he recorded, and hear as Jon’s exhaustion made itself apparent in his voice. 

The day afterward, he noticed Jon giving Sasha a strange look. Tim had been making some joke about a statement and the statement-giver’s strange experiences with a close friend of theirs suddenly having a different face. Sasha had retorted, with the cadence of an inside joke, “good thing I’m unforgettable!”

Jon had been coming out of his office at the time, directly behind Tim and Sasha. He froze at Sasha’s words, face paling as if someone had struck him. The expression on his face was deeply sad, and a second later changed to one of extreme confusion. Martin watched as Jon backed up, returning to his office and staring into space for quite some time before getting back to work. 

It was a week after the fateful “Day the Door Opened”, as Tim started dramatically referring to it, that the real strangeness started. He had brought Jon the cup of tea he made daily for him, despite Jon’s complaints, and set it down. Jon glanced up at him, and for the first time, gave a small nod of acknowledgement instead of a scowl. He clasped the cup in both hands as he continued to read aloud from the paper in front of him. Martin shot Jon a small smile and turned to leave the room, and paused in surprise as Jon said his name quietly.

“Yes?” He whipped around a little too quickly, and immediately cursed at himself for acting like a kid with a crush. He was a grown man, dammit. 

“Thank you.” Jon gave him a small, barely there smile, and then turned to pull another statement out of a nearby box. Martin made a hasty retreat, praying Jon didn’t notice any of the pink covering his cheeks. 

Sasha noticed instantly, of course, the second Martin stepped back into the cramped room the archival assistant’s desks fought for space in. She waggled an eyebrow at him, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Jon ask you to follow up on a particularly juicy statement?” She stage-whispered, and Martin shushed her desperately. He certainly hadn’t told her about his ill-advised feelings for Jon, but then again he should really know better than to tell Tim anything at this point.

“No! Something… else. Something really strange,” Martin sat down at his desk, leaning his chin into one hand. “He… smiled? At me?”

“Really says something about him that that’s a real cause for alarm,” Tim quipped loudly from the other side of the room. Both Martin and Sasha shot him scandalized looks, and Sasha put a finger to her lips. Tim rolled his eyes, turning back to whatever he was researching. 

“Really? What happened?” Sasha leaned in, her eyes lighting up. She thrived on gossip, but only that involving Jon. It was against her nature to have a nearby mystery and not attempt to solve it, and Jon was nothing if not a mystery.

“I don’t know! I gave him his tea, same as always, and he actually thanked me. And then he smiled!” Martin whispered, still in a state of somewhat shock. 

Sasha giggled. “Tim does have a point, seems normal enough, but definitely not for Jon. Do you think he’s sick or something?”

Martin shrugged, and then froze as Jon stepped into the room. He shot a cursory glance around at his assistants, raised an eyebrow at Sasha and Martin’s heads bent close together, and strode forward toward Elias’s office in his normal brusque manner. He did not greet or acknowledge his assistant’s presence. Tim laughed after Jon left the room.

“Seems like he’s back to normal now, huh?” Martin nodded, and gave a small laugh of his own. Maybe Jon had a rare moment of a good mood? He probably shouldn’t read too much into it. There were a couple truths of the world, and one of them was definitely that Jonathon Sims did not care about anyone but himself. 

That’s what made it even stranger when, after a couple weeks, Jon’s door remained open. Martin continued to bring tea every day and received not only one, but two separate small smiles, and three quiet instances of a quiet, muttered thank you, and on one fateful day, he heard Jon on a phone call. And it wasn’t. Work-related.

He had arrived to work to find Sasha pressing herself up against the door to Jon’s office, which was closed again. Her eyes widened as she heard someone enter the room, and she visibly relaxed to see Martin, holding a finger to her lips. Martin immediately decided he’d rather feign innocence than anger either Sasha or Jon, both of which he had no doubt could easily make his life miserable, and sat down at his desk, pretending not to see her obvious eavesdropping. After about ten minutes of this, she launched herself at her desk, and managed to look quite busy doing work about fifteen seconds before Jon opened his door. He walked over to the small shared kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, and walked back inside his office without saying a word. The door remained open. Sasha made a show of heaving a huge sigh of relief.

At the time he always took his lunch break, he started his usual routine of microwaving his sad leftover takeout when Sasha grabbed his arm, moving to pull him toward the door. 

“Come on, come on, we’re meeting Tim at the cafe!” She left no room for argument, and Martin tried not to be extraordinarily pleased both at being included and at the first comforting touch he had received in quite a while. He followed out the doors of the Institute and with her to the small cafe nearby. 

Tim had already claimed a booth, and had his legs sprawled across the bench next to him. He moved as Sasha slid into the spot next to him, talking before she had even taken off her coat.

“Jon has a friend! Can you believe it? I mean, not to be rude, but I certainly didn’t expect it. I didn’t hear much actually, just something about Jon being sorry about some sort of row they had. To be honest, that’s the only part that makes sense to me. Jon being an asshole, I mean.” She leaned across Tim to grab a menu as she spoke, and Martin absorbed the new information. It shouldn’t have been that much of a revelation- of course Jon had met at least one person other than them in his lifetime, they were being stupid to assume he didn’t have ANY friends. Some sort of thick feeling was rising in his throat, and he refused to categorize it as jealousy. 

Tim was making some sort of joke about how maybe Jon’s friend had lost the ability to feel anger, as that would be the only reason they could manage to stick around. Martin tuned him out in favor of telling himself, very firmly, that he was happy Jon had friends outside of work, and that that was good for him, to have positive connections, when he spotted him.

A man sitting alone at a corner table was staring at them. He had a shock of long blonde hair, and something about him made Martin take pause. As he looked longer, the man seemed to shift, just slightly, in a spiral pattern, reminding him strangely of a kaleidoscope. Martin stared as, casually and slowly, the man raised a mug in his direction like some strange toast. He immediately turned to Tim and Sasha, but neither of them seemed to have noticed anything unusual. Martin glanced back to see no sign of the man. 

He internally rolled his eyes. Was there anything more cliche, especially in this line of work, then seeing things that weren’t there? Martin told himself, very firmly, that it was his eyes playing tricks on them. Jon would have already lectured him on tricks of the light and him needing new glasses by now. 

No, much better to ignore it. After all, Martin wasn’t the sort of person strange things happened to. \


	2. wow jon, 4 seasons of character development in a week?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this takes place september 2015, unless my timeline is fucked up, which is extremely possible. i havent spoken to another human being in person for a month so if the dialogue is unrealistic thats why. yes my author's notes will always just be excuses for why i refuse to do research or write realistically, bc at the end of the day i am writing this because its FUN!!! also i cant figure out how to indent things properly on this formatting so if anyone knows how? also also there isnt going to be much plot to this i just want to write sasha being happy and that includes everyone else being happy. finally, i love georgie send tweet

The visions started small.

The first time it happened, Jon was looking into the bathroom mirror. It was cold in his apartment, the thin walls letting in every degree of difference between a liveable temperature and the iciness outside. He had been standing there a lot longer than necessary, allowing himself to wallow in the rare moments of self-pity he allowed himself. He was rather certain most people wouldn’t consider a few seconds of staring into his own eyes and thinking about how much he hated himself an indulgence, but it was a years long habit of his, and he didn’t see himself stopping any time soon.

As he looked, his vision seemed to… blur, slightly. His hair suddenly appeared a lot longer, more grey than he was used to and curling slightly around his ears. He could see his eyes, but they were darker- a pure black, compared to his normal deep brown. Dark scars stood out against his brown skin, but they didn’t look like they were made by any sort of natural accident. He looked older, wearier, and deeply sad. 

Jon started in surprise and as he did, the illusion was shattered. He was him again- hair cropped short, less lines around his eyes, but the same dark bags seemed to be there whether he was hallucinating or not. Jon pressed a hand to his face, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath in. Just a trick of the light, maybe, or maybe not sleeping really was getting to him. He realized just how badly this had affected him as he found himself pondering for a moment taking Martin, of all people’s advice, and taking some time to rest. 

That was it, for a while. It wasn’t until several weeks later when it happened again.

This time, he was at work, and Martin had brought him a cup of tea. He sent one of his best glares at the man, ignoring the steaming cup in favor of doing the work he was actually supposed to be doing. He wished Martin would receive the message and do the same. Instead, a pang of pain shot through his temple, and he froze. He could hear his own voice, echoing and sending more jolts of pain with every word. Suddenly again he could see himself, much older, and speaking frantically into a tape recorder.

“No more paranoia. It’s almost got me killed more than once, and Georgie was right. If I am, uh, slipping then I need people I can trust. And I… I don’t think that can happen naturally for me an-anymore, so I’m making a decision. I trust them. All of them.” 

This was accompanied by a series of flashing images- Sasha, smiling at him, her long dark braids bouncing around her face. Tim, with the same scar covered skin he had seen on his own face earlier in the day. A few women he didn’t recognize- one with a buzzcut, smirking, another wearing a hijab and raising an eyebrow at him, one with thick dark sunglasses. He felt himself coming back for a second, the image of the desk in front of him growing sharper, before two more images rushed to the front of his mind. He reeled in blinding pain, seeing a Martin dressed in pale blue give him a sad smile and turn away. Jon could feel the emotion tied up in the… memory? He felt desperate, wanting nothing more than to pull Martin into his arms. The final image was of Georgie, dropping her keys on the table and shooting him a smile. 

“Well, like I said, you’re welcome here as long as you need.” She said to him, and his heart hurt. Even as the image faded, Jon could feel his every emotion, the fear, the overwhelming relief at a friendly face, the awkwardness as he tried to navigate the new situation- and he opened his eyes to find himself on the floor of his office, drained and weak. The door, thankfully, was closed, and there was no sign anyone had seen him in his confused and disoriented state. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. 

Jon felt overwhelmed, and more confused than he had ever been in his life. He was a reluctant believer in the supernatural, or at least the real kind, the kind he knew was out there, but he didn’t know where to begin with what had just happened. His head felt too large, somehow, filled with knowledge he didn’t understand. Examining the visions, piece by piece, made him feel dizzy, but he pressed on. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Thinking about things that had happened recently- his promotion, meeting his team, even Martin bringing him tea just minutes ago felt foggy and like they had happened years ago in his memory. The visions felt fresh, and much more recent, but Jon was certain he had never said those words, and it had been years since he talked to Georgie.

He tried to distract himself with work over the next week, but it didn’t seem to be working. The visions kept coming, and they thankfully hurt less and less as time went on. They were sometimes startling- Sasha had made some joke about being unforgettable and the pain that shot through his heart took his breath away, although he had no idea why. Other times, they were easier, comfortable, and almost felt like puzzle pieces slotting into place. Martin bringing him tea, which before he had certainly regarded as an annoyance, suddenly felt like a time honored tradition, and he found that the sight of his assistant almost immediately made a smile start tugging on his lips. He actively stuffed those feelings back down. It wouldn’t do to startle his assistants by acting strangely- although it seemed a little late for that. He would have to be blind if he didn’t notice their hushed conversations about him, but every time he started to get suspicious or angry, his own voice rang in his head- ‘I’m making a decision. I trust them’. Jon wasn’t a stupid man, and after the visions started to lead him toward useful information- he knew instinctively which file to record next, a brief flash of him regretting not taking a different route to his office helped him avoid a frustrating encounter with Elias, and he even managed to correct a mistake Martin would make before it even happened- he started to trust the ‘future flashes’, as he had started to refer to them. There was a vague sense of worry, like he should be more alarmed than he really was, but it was little enough he managed to sweep it under the carpet, and slowly but surely a picture began to build in his mind. 

He was almost certain at this point that the visions were coming from either the future, or some sort of parallel dimension. Jon vaguely knew that he should be panicked by all of this. He tried to force the issue, but it felt somewhat like pressing on a bruise- Jon knew the thought that he should be panicked was there, and he tried to force himself to consider the thought, to really think about the fact that this was insane and he should be concerned, to press on the bruise until he broke through somehow, but eventually he couldn’t press the skin any further and it sprang back to normal, the thought once painfully jamming itself into his mind simply sitting there. Visible, but not a bother. 

Jon was remembering, but at the same time, seeing forward. The strangest thoughts would cross his mind sometimes, and it was getting harder to distinguish what was real and what was a flash of the future. He felt like he was living a life he had already lived, and some part of him was bored by that. It was the same part that he felt had lived in him his whole life, the part of him hungry for knowledge, the part that would eagerly devour book after book- that part of him felt almost bored, as he read aloud statements he already had memorized. It felt like half of him was mourning, was in pain, was deeply hurt, and the other half of him was the same irritable Jon he had always been, and that still on top of this there was a new person living in the same head, and this separate part of him hungry for knowledge, and there was some sort of strange fight going on in his consciousness. After weeks of him feeling like he was both awake and not, unable to tell what was new and what he had already done, he did something drastic.

He called Georgie.

At this decision, Jon was startled by himself. It wasn’t until the number was half punched into his phone that he started to have doubts, and not until the phone was ringing that the regrets settled in. Before he could think twice, he quickly checked the office- only Sasha was sitting in the assistant’s cramped room, and he shut the door to his office behind him as he sat down in his chair. On the ninth ring, she picked up.

“Jon? Hello? Is everything okay?” Georgie’s voice was familiar, slightly groggy from the haze of sleep. Jon glanced at the clock, and made a face upon realizing it was only 8 am. Oh well. 

“Georgie? Hello. Are you well?” He stuttered a little over the greeting, realizing quickly that he honestly had no idea what to say. He had been operating entirely on instinct, and the flashes had shown him that whatever was going on, in whatever situation he’ll presumably find himself in shortly, he could trust her. 

She huffed a laugh into the microphone, and Jon could picture her exasperated half-smile, nose scrunched and covered in freckles. “I’m fine, Jon. I already know you didn’t call for pleasantries, really. What’s going on?”

There was a pause. Jon’s head seemed once again too full, thoughts bouncing between two different instincts. He wanted to blow off her concern with a rude remark, pushing her away like he had become quite accustomed to. He didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, before he could think things through. “Our fight was… it was entirely my fault. I know that now.”

There was another, longer pause. When Georgie spoke again, Jon could tell her smile was gone.

“Jon, it’s a little late for that. I appreciate it, I do, but if this call is some sort of attempt to win me back or something, I-”

“No, no!” Jon exhaled in a sort of laugh. “Nothing like that, I- I swear, Georgie. I just needed to let you know. I acted like an ass. I took all my emotions out on you, and that was a shit thing to do, and I don’t need you to forgive me, I just need to you to know-”

“Jon, I forgave you ages ago.” Georgie huffs out a sigh, and Jon relaxes slightly as he can tell the smile is back in her voice. Years of being apart, but when you know a person well enough, the knowledge tends to stick. “I don’t know when you suddenly grew up a little bit, but trust me when I say I am well aware you had your own issues and didn’t know how to take care of yourself, let alone a relationship. So yes, I accept your apology, and I am thankful for the first real apology ever given by Jonathan Sims. What’s going on, Jon?” Her voice was fond as she finished speaking, and Jon was almost speechless. This entire conversation- it didn’t feel like him, not really. He could feel someone else’s emotions. The affection could be him, sure, but even at their best he had never felt this way toward Georgie. It felt like he could breathe again now that he heard her voice, now that he knew she was safe. He didn’t feel like his normal self at all. Jon found himself in a position where finally the relationships he had shattered or neglected were being rebuilt, but he barely felt like he could take credit for it.

“I don’t- can we talk in person?” He fidgeted as he spoke, digging his nails into the skin of his arm. It was the first part of the call he actually felt he spoke the words himself.

“Sure, but this better not be a years old shouting match all over again,” and before Jon had time to be offended, “I’m mainly joking, promise. Do you want to see the Admiral?” 

Jon eagerly agreed, and after hanging up the phone, took in a deep breath. He barely noticed the curious eyes of Sasha and Martin on him as he grabbed some water- too distracted by the fact that for the first time since the visions had started, his head didn’t hurt. 


	3. suspicions rise (and now back to martin with the weather)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted sasha’s birthday to be after halloween but i wanted to make her a libra... look me in the eyes and tell me sasha james is a scorpio.
> 
> anyway i am indeed writing this for fun bc quarantine is disgustingly boring which means most of this was written at 3 am and unbetad, lmk if i messed up!!! and thank you to everyone who’s commenting !! it’s def pushing me to put up chapters faster lol

Martin was not entirely convinced that he wasn’t losing his mind. 

The bafflement of Tim and Sasha helped convince him somewhat that he wasn’t alone in thinking that Jon had somehow gone from, to put it mildly, an asocial dick, to someone that the three of them were actually enjoying spending time around. He left the door to his office open all the time now, and occasionally Martin would overhear a quiet laugh as Jon texted his… mystery friend. Tim was certain that Jon had a new girlfriend, as he swore that he heard them on the phone once and it was definitely a female voice. Sasha wasn’t nearly as sure, arguing back that Jon would’ve had to actually convince a girl to talk to him first, and she couldn’t see a possible scenario in which the Jon they had met when he first started as Head Archivist could’ve done so. Martin tried his best to stay out of it. The thick feeling in his throat was becoming a lot more commonplace than he would like it to be, but he consoled himself with the small smiles he received from Jon, and occasionally the small pieces of praise Jon dropped his way. Once, Jon had said ‘good work, Martin’, and Martin was pink for a solid hour afterwards. It did not escape Martin how pathetic this was, and it was often a topic on the daily ‘things Martin beats himself up about’ roster. 

The most pressing question on all of their minds was how this possibly could’ve happened. The change had been somewhat gradual, but a 180 personality turnaround would’ve taken a lot longer, surely. As September turned to October and the leaves started falling, Jon went from a surly asshole boss, rarely seen ever let alone in a good mood, to a somewhat shy but ultimately decent-natured person, who seemed to be genuinely trying to reach out, in an awkward, Jon sort of way. It didn’t spell good things for Martin’s attempts to get rid of what he considered a juvenile crush on the man. It was easy to tell himself it was just because his new boss was, unluckily, just his type, but that’s it. It was harder to grapple with when Jon started turning into the type of person Martin wouldn’t mind realistically doing something untoward with. Like holding hands. 

Sasha’s birthday was October 22nd, and both Tim and Martin had gotten her gifts, so of course they had a small office party. Martin came in early to put up decorations, but not early enough to beat Jon. Said early-riser burst out of his office somewhere around seven in the morning to grab a statement, scaring Martin almost off the ladder he was on. Finishing tying the balloon onto the ceiling fan, Martin shot a smile at Jon, who had stepped forwards to hold the ladder. The assistant’s room was covered in blue crepe paper and balloons, along with two brightly coloured packages on Sasha’s desk. As Martin climbed down, Jon added another present, wrapped in newspaper, without a word. 

“What’d you get her?” Martin whispered, making a show of checking the room for any eavesdroppers. The corner of Jon’s mouth twitched.

“Martin, I’m not sure you quite understand how secrets work,” he retorted, beginning to search for the statement he’d originally come out for. “Besides, you’ll find out soon enough, because I doubt Sasha will wait long before ripping the paper off of those.”

“You’re not wrong, but you can trust me! Promise.” Martin grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. He found it much easier to joke with this new, softer Jon. Jon smiled slightly in return, serving to make Martin’s face light up further. 

“I can trust you, can I?” He knew Jon meant the question lightly, but something made Martin unable to help himself.

“Yes. You can trust me.” The certainty in Martin’s tone was unmistakable, and made their light joking suddenly heavy. Martin knew that he meant it though, and he hoped Jon didn’t realize quite how much he meant it. 

As Jon was about to respond, Sasha burst into the room, Tim on her heels. 

“Happy birthday to me!” She whipped off her glasses to wipe off the fog, rain droplets spraying off her hair as she tossed it over her shoulder. The rain had been pouring heavily for hours now, but it definitely hadn’t dampened the birthday girl’s mood. Tim pushed his own sopping wet hair back from his forehead, flashing a wide smile at Martin. Jon took what seemed to be an almost unconscious step back, but had what looked like the beginnings of an affectionate smile on his face. Taking a closer look, Martin noticed Jon looked unfocused, and a little bit zoned out. Sasha didn’t seem to notice though, and started to excitedly grab her presents. Ripping the first one open seemed to startle Jon back into the present, and Martin relaxed as Tim presented the large cake he had proudly remembered to get. 

Sasha beamed at the books Tim got her, and thanked Martin excitedly at the laptop stickers he had given to her, but the hug she gave Jon after unwrapping the Ghost Hunt UK t-shirt quickly revealed her favorite gift. Jon froze as she threw her arms around his neck, and after a beat of motionlessness he managed to bring his arms up to gently pat her back. Later, Martin would hear Sasha proudly discussing it with Tim.

“I think he finally gets what an inside joke is!” She exclaimed happily. 

Time continued to pass. Jon was friendlier to almost everyone. Sasha was openly praised much more often, and Jon often would ask her advice, instead of dismissing her. She was obviously pleased to have her talent recognized, and it quickly became apparent why it was a shock she hadn’t received the head archivist position. Tim’s antics ramped up somewhat with the extra encouragement of Jon being somewhat tolerant of them, and he once even got a genuine laugh out of the man. Martin attempted to not be somewhat overwhelmed and failed miserably. His ridiculous thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone. His own mind was treacherous. Jon had simply rolled up his sleeves the other day and Martin had felt vaguely like he needed to fan himself. Beyond that, Jon was now making casual conversation on a regular basis. It wasn’t unusual to have Jon poke his head out of his office and actually ask about their days- although, as time went on, it was Tim who noticed something strange. Jon seemed reluctant to ask direct questions of any sort, preferring to dress a question up as an oddly phrased statement. His favorites were of the ‘your day is going well, I trust’ or ‘I was going to use the microwave next, if you didn’t have plans for it’ variety. This was hardly worrisome, however, just an odd quirk, and they all knew those working at the institute had plenty of those.

The only person Jon hadn’t seemed to have warm up to was Elias. In fact, he seemed almost protective of the assistants and wary of their boss. Whenever Elias called Tim, Sasha, or Martin into his office, they knew they would afterwards immediately be called into Jon’s as he asked them urgently what Elias had said and if they were fine. They were always fine, obviously, and none of them were quite sure what the concern was. Jon would just shake his head and look frustrated. Elias seemed to notice, and visibly avoided Jon. One of Tim’s favorite games was to come up with crazy theories as to why- his most recent was that Jon was blackmailing Elias, obviously, as he knew Elias’s dirty secret- that Elias was a murderer. Sasha had snorted at this ridiculousness, throwing paper clips at him from across the room. 

The oddness hadn’t entirely stopped, though. Around mid-November, Sasha had pulled Tim and Martin into a small room probably meant to be a closet and not an office, but that nonetheless had a desk in it. 

“Have you guys noticed that Jon’s been… weird. About some things?” Her gaze searched both of their faces expectantly, and Martin found himself nodding.

“He looks at you sometimes, in a kind of sad way. Like he’s thinking about something, but not you? If that makes sense?” Tim made a noise of agreement.

“Maybe you remind him of someone, Sasha?” He added, and scratched his neck. “Unless you two have a past we don’t know about.”

“No, it must be that.” Sasha sighed, blowing the curls that had escaped her braids out of her face. “It’s more than that too, though. Sometimes he says things that I don’t think I’ve told him about? Just the other day, he warned me not to swipe Tim’s sandwich”- here there was a yelp of annoyance from Tim, which she ignored- “because I was allergic to it. But I’ve never told him I’m allergic to peanuts, and I really doubt either of you told him. And that’s not it!”

Martin was already interjecting. “The direct question thing. Have you noticed he’ll ask other people direct questions? Like those who come in to give statements. And they always answer, a- and they always say a lot more than it seems like they will at first.”

Tim shrugged. “People come here to talk, though. They already want to give a statement, I don’t know if them answering questions they knew would be asked would be considered evidence of anything.”

Sasha paused for a second, and made a grudging sound of agreement. “I suppose. I still think we should keep an eye on it, though. Jon’s kind of one of us now, right?” 

“Okay. We’ll try to find out what’s going on.” Martin agreed, a rare note of determination in his voice. 

“Feel like I’m part of the goddamn Scooby Squad.” Tim muttered, and then sighed as Sasha and Martin sent him twin glares.


	4. migraines are a bitch, huh? (aka sasha, as usual, saves the day)

  
  


Jon was fully aware his assistants were suspicious.

He had the growing inkling that they were attempting to be surreptitious about it, but the only one of them who had a hint of subtlety was Sasha. Tim had developed a habit of inching his chair closer and closer to the open door of his office- Jon wasn’t quite sure what he was hoping to accomplish by this, as he was quite certain the man didn’t have good enough hearing for it to make much of a difference, but Jon found himself practically tripping over Tim every time he left his office. Tim always muttered an apology, pushing himself off the wall so his wheeled chair would carry him back to his desk, but even if Jon was unobservant enough to let it slide, Martin’s somewhat scandalized expression every time this occurred was more than enough proof that this was intentional. 

Martin was a different problem. Jon leaned back in his desk chair, ignoring the slight stab of pain in his temple as whatever was living in his head seemed to take offense to his phrasing. He sighed deeply. Martin was a different… thing to think about. 

He had never really taken much notice of Martin before, besides occasionally making his disdain for the man crystal clear. Martin was exactly the type of person Jon had attempted to avoid his entire life. Clumsy, bumbling, unefficient, and worst of all, attractive in a way that Jon found hard not to label as pretty. He had noticed this when they first met, but it was easy to ignore then, and Jon quickly shoved any confusing feelings under a thick blanket of his own signature dislike of other humans in general, let alone ones incompetent as Martin. He quickly had grown into the habit of ignoring Martin unless the man managed to draw his attention by making an error, and occasionally allowing himself a glance in Martin’s direction as an indulgence of sorts. 

Jon told himself there was no harm in it. He told himself it was research- he barely knew anything about the man, so of course he would be curious in the way Martin’s brow furrowed into a tiny V, right in between his eyebrows, whenever he was thinking. Jon was strangely fascinated by the tiny details of Martin. He rolled up his sleeves no matter the temperature, exposing unexpectedly muscular forearms. He would balance tea mugs in a waiter’s carry, occasionally growing daring enough to place a mug on his elbow, and somehow would never drop them, despite his clumsiness when it came to literally anything else. Martin had cowlicks all over his head, and Jon grew familiar with the way his curls would bounce and stick in place as Martin’s gingery-blonde hair grew longer. 

Martin brought him tea every day, on the dot. He seemed to have figured out, somehow, Jon’s extremely precise routine, and fit himself seamlessly into it. Jon started reading a statement at 10:30, finished usually around 10:55 or so, and without fail a few minutes after he finished Martin would be poking his head into his office with a soft knock and a shy smile. Previously, Jon was certain he would’ve regarded this with nothing but irritation. Those feelings were still there, somewhat, but dampened. Jon would catch his emotions swinging wildly between his previous, familiar annoyance, a new, soft feeling of comfort upon seeing Martin’s face, and extreme confusion. The ‘future flashes’ were often uncomfortable or painful, but almost never when they involved Martin. Apparently, in whatever world he was receiving visions from, they had become close, and his future self seemed to regard Martin not only highly, but affectionately as well.

This was most definitely odd. After discussing it with Georgie, who was surprisingly calm and accepting of almost everything he told her, her advice was to trust the visions. She had laughed and told him they had sent him to her, and she was obviously the most capable person he could've come to, so they must be doing something right in whatever parallel universe bullshit Jon had gotten himself wrapped up in. Jon reluctantly had no choice but to agree, and couldn’t argue that so far, the visions had been nothing but helpful. He still hadn’t learned enough to know exactly what happened in the near future or anything like that, but he had gotten a vague sense of how to organize the statements- by category, surprisingly, not by date or relevance or anything like that. His job became somewhat easier, as having 14 clear categories of cases made the questions he needed to ask much more apparent. 

The questions were another thing. Having the connections so clear to him made it easy to identify the recurring people popping up statement after statement and which category they belonged to, and after weeks of research, hard work, and more visions helping him along the way, Jon began to understand more about his own role in all of this.

He knew he should be more afraid. He knew, somewhere in the part of him that still felt like the old him, that this was terrifying, in a way, but it never really seemed to frighten him as much as it should. Rather, as he gained more information, it seemed to slot into his mind in a comforting familiarity. Instead of being horrified at the fact Jon himself seemed to be a living polygraph, able to easily pull the truth and information he needed out of unsuspecting statement-givers, he found that he only grew more hungry for more information. Jon had always thrown himself whole-heartedly into his work, but now it seemed to reach a fever-pitch only tempered by the fact that most of this needed to remain somewhat hidden from his assistants. 

And they were suspicious. As time went on, and Jon had actually attended the small office non-denominational winter celebration they held (as Sasha was Jewish, and Tim decidedly not Christian, they decided to compromise), his tolerance of them grew more normal, and they stopped shooting him odd glances at his every attempt at conversation, but they failed to stop their doomed-from-the-start spy missions. Today Jon had discovered, of all the things, a cheap baby monitor tucked underneath his desk. His first reaction was to storm out of his office, lecturing the culprit- almost definitely Tim- on professionalism, ending with a stern reminder that Jon was his boss, and deserved respect.

He didn’t do anything of the sort. Something made him take pause, and Jon found himself at something of a crossroads. Some angry part of him wanted to smash the thing. He wanted to follow through on his instincts, yell at Tim until he felt a little better, and sulk in his office about how obviously his assistants didn’t respect or care about him. 

Jon was stopped by a now-familiar jolt of pain shooting through his forehead. Before he was able to stop himself, he let out a yelp. This one was much stronger than any he had had so far, and his vision went hazy as he had a vague sense of himself falling off of his chair. This, however, took a backseat to the images swimming before his eyes. 

“Really, it’s me! Sasha… whatever-her-name-was! Back from the dead, just like you wanted!” He reeled as the words sent a jolt of pure pain through his chest. It was like no grief he had ever felt as guilt pulsed through his veins like mud, thick and heavy. He could hear his own voice for a moment before the vision changed abruptly. It was Tim. Jon couldn’t see anything else besides his face, brilliant and illuminated. He was grinning in his usual way, dimples prominent, and Jon could just make out his voice yell something before everything was dark. It was quiet and dark for a moment, and Jon got the uncomfortable feeling that his eyes were shut tight, even though he had not closed them. His heart felt like it was bursting, too many feelings overwhelming him at once, and his head was too busy, too much, as his thoughts careened in a dizzying whirlwind, and Jon was worried for a moment he might vomit before he became aware of someone’s hand on his arm.

Jon shot upright, narrowly avoiding headbutting whoever was nearby, and heard Sasha’s familiar voice as she exclaimed in surprise.

“Jon! Jon, are you alright?” Coming back to himself, Jon blinked until he felt centered again. The relief that shot through his heart upon seeing Sasha almost sent him right back to the ground again. She was kneeling next to him, and the warmth of her hand on his arm helped ground him in this moment. He felt the loss more than he thought he probably should when she took her hand away slowly, seemingly taking care not to startle him.

“I’m fine, Sasha. Thank you for your concern.” He shot back out of habit. She immediately rolled her eyes, adjusting her position to sit cross-legged. Her knee very slightly touched Jon’s. He spent a solid thirty seconds debating whether it was purposeful or not, and settled on not, and then immediately launched into self-deprecating thoughts about how presumptuous it was of him to assume she meant the touch as friendly reassurance. This train of thought was very forcibly ejected from the station as Sasha ignored his staring into the distance, instead very carefully laying the back of her hand across his forehead. She made a small humming noise, taking her hand away after a moment.

“I don’t think you’re running a fever,” she paused for a moment, then gently smoothed Jon’s hair away from his forehead, lightly running her fingers over his skin. Jon resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to lean into the touch. “Did you hit your head, when you fell? I don’t think you broke the skin, but I’m worried you might have somewhat of a lump. Concussions are no joke, Jon, you should really-”

“As I said, Sasha, I’m fine.” He cut her off quickly, and then made the conscious decision to accompany his words with what he thought was a reassuring smile. Sasha blinked behind her thick glasses for a moment before shooting him an unmistakable dry look. 

“Jon. You would not allow me to work here if you honestly thought I was that stupid.” She tapped a yellow acrylic-topped nail against her glasses. “I have eyes, you know. Both me and Martin heard you yell, and you’re honestly lucky I decided you didn’t deserve a solid five days of the signature Martin mother-hen treatment. I know you get migraines-” Jon attempted to interject again here, and Sasha rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could manage. “-once again, not stupid, we’ve all seen you rubbing at your temples and wincing at loud noises, but if they’re getting this bad I honestly think you should talk to your doctor. I’m not forcing you, because I can’t, but I’m asking you. As your friend, Jon.”

This, for some reason, was more startling to Jon than any odd occurence in the series of odd events his life had become. Sasha’s voice seemed to have genuine fondness in it. He glanced up at her face. She had a sort of exasperated half-smile he had only ever seen Georgie wear before. For a brief moment, and this sent yet another twinge of pain through Jon’s weary skull, her face was replaced with a stranger’s- some blonde girl with blue eyes and none of Sasha’s warmth. There was a sense of utter wrongness for a moment before the vision faded, and he once again could see his Sasha- dark skin, circular silver glasses, and her favorite yellow sweater. 

It was enough to convince him, for some reason. He had already made the decision to trust his assistants, but hadn’t made any effort to tell them why, or include them in his plans. As much as they might be tentatively turning into people he could call ‘friendly acquaintances’, he found it difficult to actually share information with them.

“Sasha, I- this might sound a tad unbelievable.” He started, already nervous. She gave him a patient smile, and laid her hand on top of his. 

“Most things here are. I trust you, Jon.”

Jon relaxed, and began to trust in turn as he started his story. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES i’m going to continue projecting onto Sasha, she’s jewish now, i don’t think any of the characters are canonically any religion. basically i can do what i want!! this is the first chapter where i’ve actually had to do a lot of timeline research and i’m pretty sure i worked it out okay but if i fucked up any dates feel free to let me know!! also if you have ideas for the name of this fic please comment i named it the first thing i thought of while very high at 1 am. ALSO I ACTUALLY MADE AN OUTLINE FOR THIS! please clap. it’ll probably end up being a long fic, melanie doesn’t even make an appearance for several more chapters,


	5. all's fair in love, war, and jealousy (aka tim and martin pine while sasha and jon are just chillin)

Contrary to what some people seemed to think, Martin was not an idiot. 

Something had happened, and not just the events of yesterday. Jon had made a strangled noise of pain from in his office, followed by a heavy thud. Both he and Sasha had jumped to their feet. Sasha beat him there, only because she happened to have been standing closer to the door at the time, and he was left to slump back into his seat with the knowledge that Jon was definitely going to have a better reaction to Sasha checking on him anyway. She had shut the door behind her, and Martin could just make out hushed conversation from through the thick wood. He tried to distract himself by making tea- chai with no milk or sugar for Jon, earl grey with hazelnut creamer for Sasha, peppermint with sugar for Tim- when he almost dropped everything as Tim strode into the room. 

“Tim!” Martin whirled at the loud footsteps. “You startled me!” He tried not to be peeved as he held out a mug of tea for him anyway. Tim took it and sat down at his desk, signature grin already in place.

“Don’t be so jumpy next time. What’re the Spy Kids up to for the day?” Tim asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Sasha and Martin’s desks. “You’re missing half the dynamic duo.”

“She’s with Jon, right now. He fell, or… something.” Martin gave a half shrug as he set Sasha’s mug, decorated with small bees and yellow hearts, on her desk. He set Jon’s, which was plain, grey, and chipped in several places, on his own desk, sinking into his chair with a somewhat irritated sigh. The thickness in his throat felt like he had attempted to swallow a golf ball, and he tried to ignore it and be glad that someone was looking after Jon.

“He is a grown man. You guys know that, right?” Tim raised an eyebrow as he started to set himself up for the day, grabbing relevant files. “You know that he’s like five hundred years old? You both treat him like he’s going to fall apart at any moment. He can take care of himself. He isn’t even nice to you, Martin, honestly.”

Martin wanted to protest at this, but he found it hard to argue with Tim’s words. Jon was, technically, capable of caring for himself, but it didn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon. He still showed up to work every day much too thin, dark circles under his eyes like perpetual gloomy clouds, and Martin had seen him eat maybe three times ever. Tim was right on the second count too. Sure, Jon was in general more friendly, and if you caught him on a good day Martin could even have a short joking conversation with the man, but Tim was right to say it wasn’t like Jon had shown anything further than normal human decency. 

“I know, but he’s been better, hasn’t he? He’s genuinely trying.” Martin defended Jon faster than he really meant to. The stupid crush he had, the one that Jon obviously didn’t return, had lingered and (rather unfortunately) grown. Tim was definitely right- he needed better self esteem.

Tim didn’t see fit to respond to this past a dismissive snort, but a moment later made a small noise of amusement. Martin checked to make sure he hadn’t been doing anything embarrassing.

“Kinda makes you want to get back at him, huh?” Tim rolled his chair closer to Martin’s, already smirking. Martin took a page from Sasha’s book and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever prank you’re trying to get me in on, it’s not going to work. Like you said, it’s not like Jon’s nice to me as is.” He tried to force himself to focus on his work, but the hushed talking from Jon’s office continued for over an hour. Tim seemed entirely unconcerned, focusing instead on the case he was following up. 

Another hour passed. Finally, Sasha emerged from the office, and the door closed behind her. She walked directly to her desk, shot a small smile at Martin as she picked up her now icy tea, and chugged the contents of the mug quickly. She then focused her attention on the computer in front of her, although both Martin and Tim could see the screen, and nothing was moving or changing. Her eyes were blank, and she looked to be deep in thought. The two men exchanged a look as they waited for her to tell them what had happened, but it didn’t seem like that information would be forthcoming. 

Half an hour later, Jon cracked the door to his office open. He seemed exhausted, almost wavering where he stood, but he wore one of his rare smiles for a moment before he turned his gaze at Martin. The smile faded. 

“Martin, when you have time, I need you in my office.” Jon closed the door immediately, and Martin sighed deeply, deciding not to bring the much too cold mug of tea. He resigned himself to being scolded for whatever he had done now, and Tim shot him a look of sympathy. 

“Yes, Jon?” Martin did his best to appear casual, but he was already dreading the inevitable lecture. He couldn’t recall a single time that Jon hadn’t called him directly into his office for anything else.

“I would prefer the door closed, please.” Martin did so, chewing on the inside of his cheek the entire time. None of this boded well. He resisted the urge to do every single one of his nervous fidgeting habits at the same time, and looked at Jon instead. The man in question was wincing slightly and pinching the bridge of his nose, although when he noticed Martin’s gaze on him he immediately stopped. 

“I know you’ve been doing research on a statement given by Carlos Vittery. The one involving spiders.” At this, Jon made a face, and Martin noticed he seemed to be running his hands up his arms, as if to check for the eight legged things. “I need you to disregard anything I’ve said previously about the statement, which knowing you usually doesn’t seem to be much of a problem.” Martin winced slightly at the jab, and surprisingly, Jon seemed to have actually noticed. He paused before he continued speaking. “I- That isn’t what I meant. I apologize. I just need you to know that I’ll handle anything relating to that statement. I do not want you anywhere near Carlos Vittery’s apartment, do you understand?” Jon’s gaze sharpened at this, and the significance of what he was being asked did not escape Martin. Neither did the significance of being asked anything, by Jon.

“Yes, I- I understand.” Martin cursed the stutter that managed to sneak its way into his voice, but he did indeed understand what Jon was asking him. He looked curiously relieved by Martin’s response. 

“Good. You’re dismissed. And, Martin?” Martin paused on his way out the door. “Thank you for all you do here. I know I am not an easy man to get along with, and you do an admirable job putting up with me.” Jon offered him a small smile, and Martin couldn’t help returning it with one of his own.

On his way out of Jon’s office, he was almost immediately assaulted by Tim roughly shoving him toward the door leading to the hallways. 

“We need to talk! Right now!” Tim’s voice was a frantic but excited whisper, and Martin found himself suddenly in a cramped closet next to an irritated looking Sasha. 

“What on earth is going on?” Martin demanded, and Sasha raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic outburst. 

“Look, Tim, you’re being annoying enough today that even Martin is getting fed up. I already told you me and Jon just discussed one of the cases I’m working on. It’s fine, really, nothing odd is going on!” She ended her sentence with such finality that Martin was almost convinced. Tim was not in agreement. 

“Okay, you go from full secret agent, ‘something’s weird with Jon’, listening in on his phone calls, to ‘nothing odd is going on’? Sasha. I don’t believe that for a second! You’re obviously hiding something! Right?” He spun to Martin, eager to have backup. Martin stammered. 

“I don’t think- look, I mean- I just got called into his office too and it really was just about a statement. The only reason he closed the door- besides privacy, I mean- I think he’s a little arachnophobic? He asked me to stop looking into Vittery’s statement, but he kept rubbing his arms, like something was crawling on them, and I can’t think of why else he’d suddenly have me stop investigating like that.” Sasha looked almost relieved at Martin’s words, and quickly chimed in.

“Yep! Arachnophobic. That’s almost exactly what we were talking about, same as you, Martin, he wants me to stop researching another statement involving spiders! He probably doesn’t want you to know because you know how you tease, Tim, I wouldn’t want you knowing any of my fears, certainly.” She finished her small speech with the grand gesture of opening the closet door, grabbing Tim’s hand to pull him back toward their shared space. Martin followed, somewhat reluctantly. Even after all of Sasha’s reassurances about arachnophobia, he was still getting the uncomfortable itching feeling that he was missing something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh look who's getting better at ending chapters
> 
> fun fact: i’m from wisconsin, but to get my brain in the right frame of mind to write this, i force myself to think in a british accent. it only kind of works. i also don't know shit about britain. if you're british, and i make a mistake... oops
> 
> anyway, i know there's a lot of unanswered questions so far in this fic, but tbh i'm probably barely going to get into spooky plot stuff. the main focus of this fic is on the relationships being built between characters, and i don't really give much of a fuck about elias, so he's gonna make like maybe one appearance.... there might be more plot stuff as time goes on but for the time being any time you have a burning plot hole question just remember this is an au and the author hasn't been hugged in a month bc of this lovely quarantine situation so most of this is just yearning gay nonsense. in the best sort of way, of course. the good part is that you don't have to worry much about anything bad happening to our lovely main characters! 
> 
> this marks the end of my frantic updating spree, because i haven't actually eaten anything since i started writing this. updates will happen probably every other day? probably more frequently than that, bc my roommate is out of town so i'm living alone. please comment so i can pretend it's equal to actual human interaction


	6. FUN! FLUFF! FILLER!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for your sweet comments omg!! i promise i'm taking care of myself lol, i have adhd and sometimes i get a little manic about what i'm interested in. i spent the last 6 days listening to the entirety of the magnus archives for the first time, and listening to it while making the mistake of getting invested in the characters is like repeatedly getting punched in the gut, so i've been writing this fic nonstop since i caught up to bring joy back into my life again. i just want to pretend that sasha got a happy ending :((((

A week after he had told Sasha everything besides the fact that in some other timeline, he had failed to prevent her death, Jon bought her a yellow Polaroid camera and a pack of stickers with bees on them. 

Jon had asked Sasha not to share what he had told her with the others, and she had extremely reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell them, but it also wasn’t… not that. Tim was a little bit of a wild card. He wanted to trust him, he really did, but he honestly wasn’t quite sure how Tim would react, and he doubted it would be well. It could range anywhere from Tim accepting it, as he seemed to accept a lot of the oddities surrounding the archives, from him angrily accusing Jon of trying to mess with him, from Tim just dismissing the entire thing as a joke. He could prove it, he supposed, but he struggled to think of a convenient way how to. It wasn’t like the visions provided him with many solid facts, and Jon had a sneaking suspicion that if he flat out told Tim he was seeing the future without being able to name the next day’s lotto numbers or list some personal info about random passerby, Groundhog Day style, it would not be taken well. He could also just ask Tim to take it well, but the idea of using his newfound powers to manipulate the very same people he was trying to befriend didn’t sit well with him. Martin, on the other hand, would probably believe him without too much convincing, but one threat from Elias and Jon was relatively sure Martin would spill his guts whether he wanted to or not. 

So that left Sasha. Georgie had given him glowing praise when he told her he had told Sasha everything he had seen from the visions. He hadn’t, really, but he had told her everything except that she was the one who had been replaced with the Not creature. In his version, it had been a different researcher, who Sasha reminded him of. He had also conveniently left out any odd feelings the visions had brought up regarding Martin. Jon had simply told her that he would feel affectionate feelings, like he and the assistants were old friends that he hadn’t seen in a while, and hadn’t seen a reason to elaborate further on how so many of the visions were triggered by Martin’s face, Martin’s voice, Martin’s smile… he could go on. 

He told Georgie this at her apartment, out of confusion more than anything else. This had sent her into a good ten minute long giggling fit, and Jon petulantly pet the purring cat forcing his way into his lap while waiting for her to refind her words.

“You know what romantic feelings are, right Jon? My god, we dated!” Even her words sounded like laughter.

“Of course I do! But this isn’t that!” Jon was rather offended by this. He wasn’t much of a people person, sure, but he wasn’t so out of touch to not know when he had feelings for someone, and he certainly did know he wouldn’t develop any towards Martin of all people. Besides, after what a mess of things he had managed to continually make of his and Martin’s professional relationship, Jon had barely made any overtures toward friendship, which already seemed like an unattainable goal. Georgie seemed to know what he was thinking already, and made the executive decision to change the subject, asking him instead if he was up for Hungarian food. 

So he bought the camera. It wasn’t a thank you present, not really, but it’s how Sasha seemed to take it, which was a more optimistic outlook than the note Jon had attached to it: ‘in case of the stranger’. She had given Jon a hug, which was no less startling than the first time she had done it, and Jon didn’t have time to react before she was already out of the room to fiddle with the thing. 

He wasn’t quite sure if he regretted it. The very first thing Sasha had done was take a selfie with Tim and Martin, tugging both of them close to her and beaming into the tiny mirror on the camera. Jon had noticed a small amount of tension between Tim and Sasha in the previous week, but it seemed to be gone now- he suspected Tim didn’t have the stomach to remain upset with Sasha for long, even if it was about the Head Archivist’s secrets. Or maybe he had bought the arachnophobe story, which wasn’t technically a lie, after all. The resulting photo was quickly taped up on the wall, a tiny rectangle of Tim’s grin, Martin’s shy smile, and Sasha’s blurred and laughing face. She was still laughing as Tim wrote ‘ARCHIVAL ASSISTANTS ASSEMBLE’ in scrawled blue sharpie on the bottom, and Martin added the date in tiny black pen. 

“Tim, pose!” Jon could hear her order the other two assistants about in their office space, and Martin’s laughter as Tim undoubtedly struck the most show-boating pose he could manage. This continued for quite some time, and Jon tried his absolute best not to be annoyed at the noise. It wasn’t nearly as hard as it used to be. Every time he edged into ‘actually irritated’ territory, he was reminded of the darkness surrounding Tim’s face, of a monster wearing Sasha’s life standing in her place, of Martin looking wrung out and filled up with sadness. It made it quite hard to hang onto his anger, in addition to the fact that he was the one who gave her the camera in the first place. 

It didn’t take long before Sasha dragged him into the whole mess. His office door was open, and she leaned slowly into the doorframe until he noticed her. He saw her braids swing into view first, and then her Ghost Hunt UK t-shirt as she slowly leaned over, and finally her face covered from view by the sunshine yellow camera as she snapped a picture of him. 

He swore, but she was already laughing, waving the developing picture at him. 

“Come let me take a good photo then! The lighting’s way better out here.” She waited in the doorway, making it pretty clear he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Jon reluctantly got up. It would defeat the entire purpose of the gift if there weren’t at least a few photos of him floating around, he supposed, but the idea of posing for a picture seemed a lot more like torture to him than it did fun. 

“You don’t have to be the only one in the photo, Jon, take one with Martin!” Sasha called out. Said man immediately went pink, fixing Sasha with the closest thing to a glare he could muster. Jon shrugged, stepping closer to Martin. The more photos with as many of the staff in the shot as possible, the better. He wasn’t sure why Martin seemed so opposed to the idea. 

He realized why a moment later. This had to be coincidental, as he certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about the ‘Martin issue’, as he had taken to referring to it to Georgie, and he definitely would have remembered if he said anything to Sasha that could be construed as a hint toward his feelings about Martin, but nonetheless as Sasha told them to move closer and closer together, Jon felt like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

He was now standing close enough to Martin he could feel the warmth next to him. Jon had to look up to see Martin’s face, and after realizing just how close their faces were to each other he immediately turned his gaze toward Sasha, who was wearing something of a mischievous smile, echoed in the face of Tim next to her. 

“Closer! I can’t get both your faces in the frame.” Jon didn’t believe that for a second, but Martin was good-natured enough that he stepped closer to Jon, and suddenly Jon couldn’t think about the obvious lie, or why Sasha was so intent on getting the two of them practically squashed against each other’s sides. He was too distracted.

This close to Martin, Jon could make out his floral laundry detergent scent mixed with printer ink, tea, and apple shampoo. He could feel Martin’s soft sweater pressed against his thin button-down, and every movement Martin made as he laughed at the faces Tim was making where Sasha couldn’t see him. It was almost overwhelming, and he stayed as still as he could possibly manage.

“Okay, smile!” Sasha called out, finally giving up the charade of forcing them to stand practically on top of each other. The flash blinded Jon, but he managed a small smile just in time. Martin immediately stepped away.

“Let me see!” He quickly walked over to Sasha to see the picture, and Jon was decidedly not offended by how little Martin seemed to want to even stand near him. Did he dislike him that much? He knew he needed to work more on being less prickly, especially when it came to Martin, but he had thought he had made enough progress for the other man to be able to tolerate standing next to him for a minute, even if it was too close for comfort. Jon tried not to think about it. After all, he had plenty of time to work on the resentment Martin obviously harbored for him, and as long as Martin stayed far away from Carlos Vittery’s apartment until he had solved the Prentiss issue, Jon had bigger issues to focus on.

By the end of the day, Sasha had used up four packages of film. Eighty different photos of one or more of the three archival assistants were floating somewhere around the archives, whether in boxes, up on the wall, underneath desks, or slipped into file folders. More than enough for Jon to be able to breathe a small sigh of relief.

And if the photo of Jon and Martin ended up in Jon’s desk drawer, well then Jon could keep a better eye on it, couldn’t he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i didn’t explicitly write it, but georgie has told jon about her little ‘i’m missing an emotion’ experience, which is why he isn’t surprised she’s so willing to believe everything. sasha doesn’t have a canonical experience with any of the 14 fears before her time at the institute, but maybe we’ll learn more about why she readily believes jon in the future… besides the fact that being a skeptic who works at the magnus institute seems a little bit ridiculous. yeah s1 jon i’m looking at you
> 
> also for some reason i get email notifs for comments but can’t reply to them? but thank you to WiseClockCounter for pointing out a couple fuckups i made, they’ve been fixed! i also made an attempt at fixing the formatting. it didn’t really work, it might be because i use google docs and refuse to switch, so if anyone knows how to make paragraph indents actually show up regularly PLEASE lmk!
> 
> and last but not least i’m being vague about a lot of things on purpose. the explanation is simple. i don’t want to write it. i can’t stress enough that i’m bored as fuck and writing this because it’s fun and for no other reason, and i can’t really bring myself to feel guilty about that, lol! i’m hoping you guys enjoy sappy character interaction as much as i do, because i really cannot stress enough that i am not paying much attention to explaining plot devices besides putting up a valiant effort to stick to the timeline.


	7. buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just chugged the rest of my coffee at 1 am to make room to dump marinara sauce into the mug so i can dip my string cheese into it easier while continuing my dan and phil games rewatch so i can remember how british accents sound while writing british characters. all to write this for u guys. ur welcome. just a lil chapter before i go to bed and stop writing for the night (it's technically morning now but i still wrote all the fic so far in less than 24 hours so i'm pretty damn proud of myself)

Martin should’ve known it was only a matter of time before something went wrong. 

It was Tim’s fault, because if it wasn’t Martin’s, it was probably Tim’s. He had meant well. Martin knew he had meant well. He told himself he meant well, every time he thought about it and had to talk himself out of strangling Tim. 

Tim was, of course, always one to take a prank slightly too far. Martin liked Tim, really he did, but the man occasionally reminded him a little bit of a middle school class clown who hadn’t really gotten the message to grow up, and considered it a little too late to do so now. Tim was much more tolerable when he and Sasha were on the on again part of their relationship, but inevitably it would tip once more towards off again, and he wouldn’t have anyone to prevent his pranks before he was unfortunately able to put them in action. This is what happened on February 28th. And then everything went to shit. 

Tim had seized on the arachnophobia thing… a bit. It was mainly only the week after the initial incident, when Sasha had used Martin’s random information about John’s arachnophobia as an excuse (they both knew that obviously wasn’t what they had talked about for over two entire hours), and he would keep bringing it up every chance he got. Constant spider puns, fake Halloween spider webs stretched over Sasha’s desk, he even got daring enough to start bringing gummy spiders to work and tossing them occasionally at the back of her head when she was working. The final straw was when one of them, considerably melted after being in Tim’s pocket all day, got stuck in her hair, right above her ear, and tangled a large part of it into one huge clump. She came into work the next day with her braids out and a scowl on her face. Her natural hair was much shorter, cut right above where the gummy mess had gotten stuck. Martin had witnessed Tim somewhat sheepishly handing over money for her to get the braids redone, Sasha whispering angrily “you KNOW how much it costs to get these!” He was rather glad he wasn’t Tim, with the level of intensity in the angry stare Sasha was sending his way that day. 

That incident put an end to the ‘let’s antagonize Sasha’ game for a while, but when Jon had suddenly staggered and almost collapsed in the middle of the room and had refused to speak to anyone but Sasha about why, Tim quickly remembered his game. Tim seemed to take the fact that Sasha wouldn’t tell him something very personally, maybe because he found the idea of someone being told a secret actually keeping it rather foreign, Martin somewhat bitterly thought. Martin tried not to let the thick feeling in his throat settle into a proper clog, especially because he and Jon had been getting on much better as of late. They’d had more actual conversations in the past week or so then they had in the entire six months prior, and Martin found himself actually settling into something of a familiarity with the other man, learning better how to interpret Jon’s dry sense of humor and characteristic inability to read the room. 

This is why, when he heard Jon yell in fear from the other room, genuine panic shot through him, and he dashed for Jon’s office. Sasha had also jumped up, but her eyes were on Tim, who was laughing, and she seemed more ready to scold than to check on Jon’s reaction to Tim’s most recent attempt at humour. 

“Jon? What happened? Jon!” Martin pushed the door open to see Jon slapping at his arms frantically, eyes glazed. His breathing was fast, quickly turning hysterical. On the floor were a few plastic spiders, with strings attached where they must have fallen onto Jon when he pulled down one of the file boxes. “Oh. Jon, listen, they aren’t real-”

Jon paused for a moment, meeting Martin’s eyes, before wincing in pain and raising a hand to his temples. He staggered where he stood a second, and Martin could just barely make out Jon’s quiet whispering ‘Mr. Spider’, over and over. Martin wasn’t sure what to do, so he settled for grabbing Jon’s hand, brushing his thumb gently over the knuckles, and pulling him into the nearby chair. 

“Jon, it’s me, okay? I just think you might feel better if you sat down, alright?” He guided Jon into a sitting position, worried at how vacant Jon’s eyes still seemed to be. He didn’t seem to be looking at any one thing in particular, and this continued until Martin eventually took an extreme liberty and brushed Jon’s hair back from his face with his free hand, lightly. Jon froze. 

“Martin?” There was a beat of silence, before Jon almost dizzily got out “it’s quiet here…” and trailed off. When he opened his eyes again, his breathing was frantic, but his eyes were alert and focused on Martin. Martin began immediately exaggerating his own breathing, quietly counting four beats in, four beats out. Jon caught on quickly, and the feverish pace began to slow to something resembling normality. 

“Jon. It’s February 28th, we’re in your office, and Tim played a prank involving fake plastic things jumping out at you.” He spoke quietly, trying to avoid saying the s-word for arachnid in case it startled Jon all over again. Martin knew a panic attack when he saw one, but he had no idea his guess at Jon’s fear were so firmly based in reality. He hoped Sasha was making Tim regret this ill-conceived idea. 

Jon nodded slowly, and Martin was suddenly aware he was still holding the other man’s hand. He squeezed gently, once. Jon looked down and seemed to notice the contact for the first time, but didn’t move his hand away.

“What happened, Jon?” Martin asked softly, counting Jon’s hand staying as an invitation to press a little further. This, however, seemed to be too much for the other man, as he squeezed Martin’s hand slightly and then let go, straightening his posture in the chair. 

“I’m quite alright, Martin. Just a momentary shortness of breath. I don’t react well to spiders.” He pushed up his glasses, acting for all the world like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn’t just been panicked, gasping for breath, his eyes glassy and unfocused. 

“Jon, if you think I’m falling for that, you must be out of it still.” Martin replied, raising an eyebrow at him. Jon shrugged somewhat uncomfortably. 

“Worth a try,” he said quietly, and Martin gave him a stern look. “Okay. Fine. I react very, very badly to spiders.” 

Martin was a little bit more likely to accept this as an answer, and decided to let the issue somewhat drop to avoid shattering what little trust Jon was placing in him.

“Are you feeling any better now?” He asked, searching Jon’s face in hopes of an honest answer. He received a small nod, and Martin smiled in response, getting to his feet a little bit reluctantly. He had learned it was best to quit while you were ahead with Jon, though. 

“Martin. Thank you.” Jon met Martin’s gaze, eyes steady. Martin felt himself thrill a little bit at Jon’s eyes meeting his, feeling suddenly as if an entire crowd of people had turned suddenly to watch the two of them. 

“It’s what friends do, Jon. I suppose you should get used to it.” Martin replied, and went back to his desk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know just a couple of fake spiders probably wouldn’t be enough to trigger this severe of an anxiety attack, even for an arachnophobe (trust me, i am one), but i think getting a traumatic view of the future during the middle of a scare related to a huge trauma of yours would probably cause one, so that’s why jon has an extreme reaction!
> 
> this chapter was meant to be longer, but i started getting way too excited about getting to start writing melanie next chapter, so i scrapped everything in favor of fast forwarding a little. i'm not sorry. all of the women in this podcast are so fucking great 
> 
> also… tim/sasha. or sasha/basira… think abt it… vote in the comments i haven’t rly decided yet. 
> 
> also a brand new fresh pov next chapter who could it be wow wow


	8. this is the first time in my entire life i've written m/f romance please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://pin.it/13adpwb here’s my pinterest board for the lovely kickass melanie king!! 
> 
> aaand here https://pin.it/3KDQ5n6 is sasha’s. i try not to go overboard on the character descriptions, while still painting a clear picture of how i’m imagining them, but in case i’ve failed, here’s some help. 
> 
> this was supposed to be two chapters, but it kinda flowed better as one? so basically you're welcome. the smarter thing to do would be to wait to post and actually reread the fic to make sure it flows and makes sense when you read it all together, but i know myself well enough that i would just keep telling myself i didn't need to keep writing bc i have more chapters to post already, so the 'reread it once then immediately post it' trend will continue. if you're bored and want to beta read (early chapters for youuuu) let me know!!!!

Sasha was very quickly getting a little bit fed up.

It wasn’t enough that she was entrusted with this huge, extreme secret, one that made their entire job make sense, one that would finally make Tim understand what happened to his brother, and she was being tasked with almost all the effort of actually keeping it. Jon seemed happy enough to let her answer all the hard questions from Martin and Tim, and she wasn’t quite sure he realized just how many there were. No, now Jon had to go and make things decidedly supernatural, and told her extremely unhelpfully to ‘stay out of it’, as he ‘had it handled’. She didn’t believe that for a second. Learning that this had been going on for months and Jon had only told one person in all that time, and not even a person who could actually help him when it came to preventing disastrous future events, made her quite thankful he had shared this with her first. Sasha was nothing if not capable. 

And then the worms had started. Jon had told her that things were going smoothly, as apparently wherever he was getting visions from, Martin had gotten himself trapped in his flat for quite some time, and that hadn’t happened in this timeline, but that didn’t change the fact that there were disgusting silver worms appearing outside the Institute. Jon hadn’t quite done much else in the form of prevention, as however his strange ‘flashes’ of the future worked, they were less of a ‘How To’ manual and more of some stranger living in his head and occasionally shouting advice at him, from how he described it. Sasha was frustrated by this. The idea of just waiting, hoping that whatever knowledge they had would carry them through? Jon had confided in her about his odd powers, the ones he’d slowly been learning how to use ever since he had a vision of himself using them. He refused to use them on her, though, which was suspicious, but Sasha couldn’t exactly pick and choose what she believed in this potluck of bulllshit, and chose to take him at his word, but she wasn’t convinced he was good enough at asking questions to make a horrific FLESH HIVE (seriously, how absolutely disgusting was that) just go ‘okay, cool, not a good time? Come back later’. 

She had avoided the blonde man with the hands that made her eyes hurt, just like he had told her to, but once again Jon’s insistence on avoidance rather than actually doing anything about the issue made her overwhelmingly frustrated. Sasha tried to point out that he was preventing the events he actually had knowledge of, almost certainly making it so instead of him prevailing in an event where he knew how things played out, he was simply just procrastinating in a way, and the entities would just alter their plans. He agreed with her, somewhat reluctantly, but still dragged his feet. Sasha got the distinct impression that he was scared, and she was a little unimpressed. She was much closer with Jon now, but he now knew that there were actual things out there that wanted to hurt them, and he had no problem still sending his assistants out to research and follow-up. What made the known things different?

And the ever-dragging on promise of ‘I’ll tell Tim and Martin soon’- she had dated men before, she knew that unless actual follow-up on a promise happened in 3-5 business days, she shouldn't keep her expectations high. 

So when Melanie King arrived at the institute, Sasha quite hoped she would knock some sense into Jon. Make it someone else’s job for a change.

“Melanie!” Jon stood up much too quickly when the woman in question appeared in his doorframe, Martin standing slightly behind her and looking apologetic. 

“Jon, I tried to tell you in advance, she insisted on coming straight up.” Jon waved a hand and smiled at Martin slightly. 

“That’s fine. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. King,” he looked at Melanie, doing his best to casually retake his seat and stretch out a hand. She looked at it and made no move to shake it. 

“How do you know my name? Are you a fan?” She looked suspicious, taking a seat across the desk from him, and Martin left the door open as he returned to his desk, and he could almost feel Tim and Martin’s curious eyes on them. Jon glanced under his desk. Thankfully, no baby monitors. 

“O-of sorts. I’ve watched episodes, certainly.” He met her eyes, and almost immediately had to look away as emotions that weren’t his suddenly hit his heart. It was almost useful that he was so used to sudden pain at this point. 

“Yeah. Okay. Well, how do you normally do this?” Her tone sounded like a dare, and Jon was reminded that most of his and Melanie’s first encounter was not entirely his fault. The thought was strangely comforting, for some reason. Finally, someone he could snap at a little bit and not feel like he just kicked a puppy if it was Martin, or worry about a week's worth of revenge pranks if it was Tim.

Jon pulled a tape recorder out from his desk drawer, setting it on the desk in front of him. “You make your statement, and I let you know how we’re going to follow up and research it. In this case, I also have some advice I would like to offer you, but that can wait until after.” 

Melanie scoffed. It seemed she had already made the decision to be suspicious of the entire Institute and everyone in it, and wasn’t keen to change her mind now. “Into that? You’re joking.” 

“I can assure you this will record just fine.” Jon was beginning to get an uncomfortable sense of deja-vu.

“I knew you guys were a bit… slap-dash, but this is absurd.” Melanie eyed the tape recorder with disdain, and cast the same disdainful look around Jon’s office. His immediate instinct was to snap back, and he started to formulate a rant on what exactly he thought of her dismissing his archives when her ridiculous YouTube channel.

“No doubt you’re used to a _higher_ calibre of equipment-”

“Jon?” Sasha poked her head into his office, startling him out of his irritation, and he looked up. “Do you need help at all? I can take notes, if you need a third person in the room.” Her eyes were meaningful, and Jon resisted the urge to roll his own. He didn’t need to be babysat to ensure he’d play nice, honestly. This is why he used to close his door. 

“No, Sasha. Thank you for your offer, but I don’t think I’ll need assistance.” She shot a smile at him. Melanie turned to see who had entered, and grinned.

“I like your t-shirt,” she said, nodding at the Ghost Hunt UK logo. Sasha looked down, realized what she was wearing, and beamed at Melanie, as she left the office, calling out a cheery “Thanks!” over her shoulder. Jon made a conscious effort to relax, settling back in his chair. 

“Alright. Now, Ms. King. Statement of Melanie King…”

Sasha didn’t quite know Jon’s plan for how to help Melanie, but she was relatively certain snapping at her and pissing her off wasn’t going to help matters much, so when she heard the signature sounds of Jon losing his temper she was quick to poke her head in to intervene. Things seemed to progress much smoother after that. Jon had closed the door at some point after Melanie had finished her statement, and it had taken a total of five minutes before Tim was tossing paper clips at her. 

Sasha turned in her chair, raising an eyebrow. Tim was being dramatic before she even said anything.

“Martin’s out of the office! I’m bored, Sasha. Desperately and completely bored.” He leaned back in his chair as far as possible, lifting the front two wheels off the floor, before almost losing his balance and slamming back down to the ground. Sasha couldn’t help the smile that immediately started tugging at her lips. 

“What’s Martin off doing?” She asked casually. Too much encouragement of Tim’s jokes too early on was dangerous. 

“Some guy named Michael came in, wanted to make a statement. Jon was busy so Martin offered to take him to write it down.” This made Sasha take pause for a moment, but Michael was a very common name, and she dismissed it easily, making a mental note to mention it to Jon when he was done talking to Melanie. 

“So it’s just us right now?” Sasha hadn’t really meant it to come out like that, but Tim immediately waggled his eyebrows, scooting his chair close enough to throw an arm around her shoulders. 

“Better watch out. I’ve been known to be extremely persuasive, and I still don’t think I have the whole story about whatever secret you and Jon keep whispering about. I’d hate to have to resort to… drastic measures.” He leaned in close, looking at her through his eyelashes. She snorted, kicking the bottom of his chair, and Tim yelped as he was abruptly rolled across the room. 

“Don’t push it, Tim. It took weeks for the spider thing to blow over, which is solid proof your ‘natural charisma’ only goes so far.” Sasha pretended to start her work. She had no intention of actually doing any. Tim rolled his chair back up next to hers, close enough their shoulders were touching.

“Don’t remind me. Martin was giving me the silent treatment for part of it. I felt like I was in high school.” There was a note of laughter in his voice, but after a moment with no response from Sasha, Tim spoke again. “I really am sorry, by the way.” 

“Jon was who you had to apologize to for that, Tim.”

“Not about that, I talked to him already, he knows that I felt like shit about that. I- I know I take jokes too far sometimes, and I’m working on that, I promise. That includes me fucking around at work, and if I ever did anything that legitimately hurt your feelings- I’m sorry.” Tim met her eyes, and Sasha melted just a little bit. This was her Tim, the one that despite her best efforts, she was still drawn to. He tried so hard to bury himself under layers of irony, and she was sometimes surprised that people seemed to be genuinely fooled by his signature ‘pretend everything is fine with humor’, because for her his personality was so apparent in his every move. Tim showed his friendship in little ways. He would joke loudly and obnoxiously to Elias or Jon to give Martin time to gather his thoughts when stressed, or Sasha would come into work sometimes and find her favorite breakfast waiting for her, or he would ‘accidentally make extra’ of his sandwiches sometimes and the bags would find their way onto Jon’s desk, where he would always end up absentmindedly eating them. 

She nodded, her expression quickly turning into the soft one she wore whenever Tim was vulnerable with her. “Thank you, Tim. You know me, and you know I would definitely let you know if you upset me. I’m sorry too.”

Tim went to protest, and she cut him off. “You like to get all ‘everything is my fault’ when you apologize, Tim, but you deserve an apology from me too. I know you’re not stupid, you obviously know something more than Jon just asking me to avoid spiders was happening, and I hate keeping the truth from you, let alone lying as obviously as I did. I’ll tell you-”

It was his turn to interrupt, and he took her hand as he did.

“But you don’t have to tell me everything. I’m an adult, some of the statements we take obviously need discretion when they’re being researched, and everyone here seems to have deep dark secrets anyway. I honestly don’t know why it was bothering me so much not knowing, it shouldn’t have been a big deal.”

“It was bothering me not telling you! I’m going to tell Jon that either I’m going to tell you or he has to, I promise.” Sasha reached up to push thick black hair back from Tim’s forehead, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to where she knew his dimple would show up in a moment, and sure enough he smiled in response. His eyes searched hers for a moment, and at her small nod, he closed the distance between them and gently kissed her. 

Kissing Tim was like breathing to Sasha, now. They had been ‘dating’ for so long, brief weeks of acting like they’d been dating for years interspersed with weeks where they vehemently denied any hint of romance between them. Sasha was stubborn, and Tim was stubborn, and for all the good at communicating with others Sasha was when it came to anyone besides Tim, she never seemed to manage to find the right words with him. It was always easier just to kiss and make up with no words exchanged, let alone mutual apologies. This was a remarkable change, but one Sasha very much welcomed. 

“Can we get lunch tomorrow?” Tim asked immediately after he pulled away, and Sasha laughed. 

“Is that what you think about when we kiss? When you’ll next eat lunch?” 

“Of course not, I just think. We should actually talk. About us?” Tim’s face was hopeful, and his grip on Sasha’s hand had turned vaguely sweaty. She nodded, and he grinned widely, gently running his thumb over the soft skin of her inner wrist. She kissed him again without hesitation, and luckily they had about thirty seconds of warning to spring apart before the door to Jon’s office swung open. 

He was laughing. This was by far the most startling thing to happen to Sasha, let alone seeing the future or fourteen fears. Melanie had a wide smile on her face, no trace of the earlier anger on her face. She turned to see Sasha. 

“Sasha, right? Would you mind showing me the way out? This place is a goddamn maze.” Melanie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before holding out a hand for Jon to shake. He did so, a smile still on his face, and Tim exchanged a shocked look with Sasha. 

“I’ll speak to you soon, I suppose. Please try and remember what I said, and you have my card now if you need anything else.” Jon said quietly, and Melanie gave him a nod before turning to head down the hallway. Sasha lingered just long enough to hear Tim’s questioning tone and Jon reply “apparently, we share a fondness for terrible horror films”. 

Melanie’s pace was brisk, and even with Sasha’s height advantage she found herself pressed to keep up. She was quickly brought into an in depth discussion on haunted pubs, finding that Melanie grew on her very quickly, and afterwards Tim’s constant jokes about Jon becoming Ghost Hunt UK’s biggest fan were distracting enough that Sasha entirely forgot to bring up Martin’s absence, or the mysterious Michael Tim had mentioned, with Jon. 

The next day, the instant Sasha had stepped through the Institute’s doors, she found herself being pulled into a broom closet by Tim.

“You really have to stop doing this, you know. Aren’t we having lunch later, for private conversations?” 

“Yeah, but I couldn’t wait,” Tim said, putting a hand on the small of her back and pulling her towards him slightly. Sasha gently cupped his chin and tilted his head up towards her, kissing him softly. “Wait, stop, distracting. Hang on.” 

He rummaged through his pockets for a moment, pulling out something small and metallic and fiddling with the lapel of Sasha’s denim jacket. Tim took his hands away to reveal a small enamel pin of a yellow rose, looking very proud of himself. “It’ll never wilt!” 

“Thank you, Tim.” Sasha touched the pin lightly and kissed Tim again. She felt greedy, now that she was allowed to again, like she only had this moment with Tim and no other. It was the way she always felt when she was with him, like she had to drink all of him in, always a little aware that the moment was eventually going to end. 

“Sasha. I don’t want…” Tim looked like he was struggling for the words, and Sasha patiently waited for him to find what he wanted to say. “I don’t want this to be like before. I always do something to fuck up-”

Here she had to interject. “Well, half the time it’s me-”

“That’s true, it’s you most of the time-”

“Whoa, whoa, I can’t name a single thing I’ve done wrong ever-”

“I forgot! I’m perfect, it was you 100%-”

“wild, outlandish accusations-”

“Anyway.” Tim paused. Sasha couldn’t resist putting her hand on the side of his face, her thumb gently brushing over the freckles on his cheekbone. Tim put his hand over hers. “Once again. Distracting. Anyway. I want this to work. With us. And I want us to talk about things, and I want to be serious about it, and I want to not be stubborn about it.”

“High expectations.” Tim’s face fell for a second before Sasha shook her head. “Joking, joking. I want to not be stubborn about it too. Maybe we should make a rulebook?” She was still joking, but Tim’s face lit up at the suggestion. 

“Rule 1: I will actually tell Sasha James my emotions and feelings instead of assuming she’ll figure it out.” Sasha grinned.

“Rule 2: I will tell Tim when I’m upset instead of waiting until he goes too far so I feel more justified in being mad.”

“Deal.” Tim’s face was pink, and he had a smudge of Sasha’s lipstick on his lip. She rubbed it away. 

“Can’t make the others jealous.” She showed him the lipstick on her thumb, and he laughed. 

“What others? Martin and Jon have a relationship of their own to be concerned about. It’s been months with zero progress.” 

“Progress on what, the ‘Tim pretends he has match-making ability’ mission?” She cracked the door to the closet open, checking to see if anyone was nearby before stepping out. Tim followed, grabbing her hand as they started towards their desks. 

“More like ‘I will become better friends with Martin if his pining lessens to a more tolerable level’.” 

“That is… a very good point. Good thing you have a kickass girlfriend to help you, who also happens to be much better at subtlety than you.” Sasha squeezed Tim’s hand, thrilling in getting to test out the label. Tim smiled back up at her.

“Yeah. Good thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's sasha’s time to shine. for a little bit. then it's jon’s time. then it's sasha’s time again. lmk if switching between perspectives mid chapter is confusing and i’ll stop! also YES sasha is taller than tim. tall sasha rights. my personal height headcanons are that sasha and martin are very close to the same height, basira is shorter than them by a little but still like 5’7” ish, melanie is like 5’5”, jon is 5’3” ish? maybe a little taller? and daisy is 5’2” bc short lesbian rights. and georgie is like an inch taller than jon. 
> 
> the song for this chapter was denim jacket by sammy rae and the friends, my version of sasha would absolutely love that band!! kick it to me is her and tim’s song and no one can change my mind. it’s the perfect mix of ‘we make eachother better’ but not in a codependent way? love it. i’ve never had strong feelings about tim as a character but the more i write him the more i’m growing very attached (to my headcanons at least lol). this chapter was my favorite one i’ve written so far bc i went from not having strong feelings about their relationship to suddenly timsasha rights!! also writing m/f is so relaxing because i don’t have to worry about pronoun confusion


	9. is this... is this plot? is this what plot feels like?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys. getting to add melanie’s character tag was so satisfying. in other news i take requests so if you have an idea for this fic and want it to be included, my tumblr is @diffenbachiae and if you shoot me an ask i would be overjoyed. or comment it, either is good!!
> 
> someone please let me know if i wrote ‘John’ anywhere my autocorrect hates me and i only just figured out i can permanently make it stop changing Jon to John but i might have missed one and if i reread this months later and see it for the first time i will be vitriolic with myself

At the end of Melanie’s statement, Jon took a second to collect his thoughts. He made a valiant effort to remember what Georgie had told him about this particular interaction- Melanie was a good person to have on his side. He should try not to be too much of… well, himself, Georgie had said with a dry smile. 

“I believe you. We’ll research Sarah Baldwin as thoroughly as we can- I’ll contact Georgie personally, that’ll be easy.”

“You know Georgie?” Melanie leaned forward. “I’ve never heard her mention the Magnus Institute before.”

“We recently reconnected.” Jon chose to leave it there for the time being, and Melanie took him at his word. This surprised Jon immensely. Had he really always been able to avoid so many uncomfortable encounters by not being outright dismissive? He had a sneaking suspicion both Sasha and Georgie would roll their eyes if he asked them that. 

“Oh. Well. Thanks, I guess?” 

“No need to thank me, it’s my job to take your statement.”

“Yeah, but it’s not your job to tell me you believe me. I think. If you say that to everyone, disregard this.” 

Jon smiled in return. “I certainly don't. If you’ll look here, I’ve written about the entity referred to as ‘the Stranger’ that you can read…”

Jon thought the meeting with Melanie went very well, all things considered. Despite their rocky start, they’d somehow gotten onto the topic of old horror movies, the sort that were so bad they were enjoyable to watch, which happened to be Jon’s biggest ‘guilty pleasure’ (although he wasn’t sure he was fond of the term. It’s how Melanie referred to his habit, and refused to stop even though Jon stressed he didn’t feel very guilty about it). She’d been a surprisingly enjoyable conversationalist, even succeeding in making him laugh several times, and he had given her his business card with the instructions to call him if she had any more uncomfortably real paranormal experiences. 

He felt very confident indeed until the next morning, when Elias poked his head in to ask Jon to stop by his office in around an hour. He grudgingly agreed, not quite sure of a way to get out of it that didn’t involve simply telling Elias an idea he had had as to a place to shove his hugely inflated head. His visions hadn’t exactly been specific, when it came to Elias, but he knew enough not to trust the man. He’d gotten hazy flashes of protectiveness every time one of his assistants and his boss were in the same room, and he definitely was aware exactly how his predecessor had passed away. Regardless of how Jon was convinced there was more going on, the fact that Elias was clearly capable of flat-out murder, and had his own, much more sinister plans brewing, made him confident enough that avoiding Elias was the correct move. Especially because Jon still didn’t know much about what those plans were. 

Elias had pressed Jon on why he hadn’t allowed Martin to continue investigating the Carlos Vittery statement, and Jon had come up with a flimsy excuse about safety issues in the building. The other man had mainly stayed out of his way, wary of Jon’s somewhat sudden transformation from grateful to Elias for the job and on decent terms with him to Jon’s sudden and obvious vitriolic attitude toward him. 

This had been the routine ever since Jon made it clear he didn’t trust Elias. He was rather surprised the man didn’t just outright fire him, but for some reason Jon was never worried enough at the prospect of dismissal for it to alter his actions. He had a strange suspicion that his visions would have warned him if he went too far and that was a possibility. 

So this meeting was a departure from their normal. He had an hour to prepare, Jon supposed, and he decided to use the time to make his tea for the day, as Martin for some reason had not come in to give him any. He assumed he had forgotten, but as Jon went to grab his usual grey mug, he noticed Martin was not at his desk, and took the opportunity to make a rare cup of coffee instead. He much preferred coffee to tea, but he had a stronger preference for daily visits from Martin.

Jon attempted to remember why Martin would be out of the office on this particular day. He remembered Sasha telling him she was leaving briefly to research a recent statement, but couldn’t remember seeing Martin since the previous day. Tim was there, seemingly focused on his work for once, so he asked him. 

“He’s not here today. Texted me to tell me he’s home sick.” 

“And he didn’t mention when he’d return, did he.” Jon made sure to emphasize the implied period, not question mark, at the end of his statement, but Tim caught the question.

“He wasn’t very specific, but he didn’t make it sound like he’d be gone tomorrow too,” Tim replied with a shrug. He didn’t seem concerned in the least, so Jon let it slide, sipping his coffee before it cooled and returning to his office. He sent a quick text to Georgie, updating her on how everything had went with Melanie, and she responded almost instantly, sending a message telling him she was happy he made a friend, a picture of a sticker meant for children that read ‘I play nice with others’, and a string of heart and ghost emojis. Jon had spent years telling himself he needed himself and himself only, but it was a welcome change to have not only one, but now apparently three- maybe four or five, if he could get along with Tim and continue his conversation about Troll 2 with Melanie- friends. 

The next hour passed with nothing of consequence occuring except Tim falling off of his chair, which Jon luckily managed to hide his smirk at. They had been getting along relatively well recently, and Tim had apologized for the spider incident, but a little bit of karma was still very cathartic. 

Jon reluctantly started towards Elias’s office. There was no sign of Martin still, and he made a conscious effort to remind himself that if there was anyone he could trust to listen to his instructions, it was Martin. There was no way the man could misinterpret a direct request from him to stay away from anything relating to the Vittery statement, and not much of a reason for Martin to disobey him on this. Jon attempted to push it out of his mind, and knocked on Elias’ door. Almost the same second he did so, he heard a “come in” softly from inside. 

“Jon! It’s good to see you.” Elias said as he entered with a smile on his face. Jon gave him a stiff nod. 

“Elias. What did you need me for?” He did not sit. 

“Just a brief question. Nothing to worry about, really. Relax, Jon! Take a seat. How are you?” Elias’s smile did not waver, and Jon reluctantly sat. This felt volatile, unpredictable, an unforeseen variable that Jon was decidedly not comfortable with. He was quite certain in whatever timeline the visions were coming from, this had not happened. Elias waited for Jon to speak, but he said nothing. Probably better to let Elias do the talking, give himself time to think. 

“I ran into Sasha briefly yesterday, after she had walked Ms. King out of the archives. She mentioned the two of you seemed to hit it off quite well?” There was another pause. Jon said nothing. He was sure this conversation did not happen, as he knew for a fact Sasha shared his distrust of Elias. What did Elias want with Melanie? 

The look on Elias’s face was turning more sour with every lack of response from Jon. He went on. “I was rather wondering if she would be a good addition to the Institute. Thought you might be in need of another assistant.”

“I don’t think she’d be a good fit.” Jon folded his hands in his lap, and Elias looked unimpressed.

“Hm. Care to elaborate?” 

“I’m not sure she’d enjoy the work much. She seemed to have a rather derogatory opinion of our Institute.” There was a moment where neither of them spoke. 

“I think I might send an application her way regardless. We could always use some extra hands around here, don’t you think, Jon?” His tone was threatening, but Jon was confused as to why. 

“W-well. I suppose if she doesn’t like it, she could always quit.” He responded, moving to get up. Jon was decidedly uncomfortable. He didn’t understand why Elias was so dead set on hiring Melanie, or why he was treating the prospect like a threat. Elias laughed. 

“I suppose! I suppose she could! Why, Jon, do you have enough sacrificial lambs already? Enough unsuspecting assistants to push into the way of danger for you?” His eyes flashed, betraying his hidden anger. It seemed his grip was slipping somewhat, and Jon didn’t know how to react. How did he handle this without giving too much away?

“I wouldn’t- I would never-”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Jon, but these people aren’t your friends. You have a job to do. I intend on making sure you do it, and if that means pushing you to make the right choices, I’ll make the choices for you if I have to. You’re dismissed,” Jon moved to get up, but it seemed Elias wasn’t done. “If I were you, I’d try to avoid getting too attached. I’m surprised you haven’t learned that already, since you seem to be so keen in following Gertrude’s footsteps.” 

Jon paused. He wanted, desperately, to ask questions, to understand what, exactly, Elias was implying, but something had just occurred to him. He felt like he had finally connected a few dots, but he was not fond of the picture they created. 

“Where’s Martin?” He asked, quietly. Elias raised an eyebrow. 

“How on earth should I know?” He smirked at this, like he was laughing at a private joke that he was expecting Jon to be in on. “Don’t you have all the answers as of late?”

Jon didn’t consider himself a brave man, but he was willing to make an attempt. “You’re cryptically telling me to distance myself, that my assistants are in danger and I shouldn’t grow attached. Martin has been mysteriously absent.  _ Where is Martin _ ?” 

“I haven’t the foggiest.” Elias leaned forward with a smile, the sickening polite mask back in place at this sign of Jon’s own vulnerability. “Perhaps he’s feeling under the weather?”

Jon stood up much too fast, bringing himself up to his full height. He was rather glad Elias was sitting down, as he couldn’t imagine the gesture to be intimidating otherwise. “If you don’t tell me. I will not hesitate to do whatever I can to remove you as the head of this Institute. I have information-”

He was interrupted by Elias’s laughter. “Yes! Do so! It sounds like it would be quite entertaining.” Jon’s anger swelled. “Yes, Jon, report me to the authorities. Take my place as head of the Magnus Institute. What a lovely happy ending for you indeed. You have my blessing.” 

“ _ Where is Martin? _ ” Jon spat the words out at Elias with all the contempt he could muster. He put as much power behind the words as he could, but Elias seemed unaffected. 

“Hm. Interesting. You’re certainly trying your hardest, Jon. A for effort, as the expression goes. Feels quite nice, actually. Sort of freeing. Won’t work, I’m afraid, both because I honestly haven’t bothered knowing and because if I did and wanted you to know, I would tell you of my own free will. I can tell you, however, that wherever he is, he is there because of his own stupidity and no other reason.”

Jon turned to storm out of the office, and just barely caught Elias’s parting words, a note of laughter still in his tone. 

“Perhaps Ms. King could take over his vacated position?” He called, and Jon seethed as he stalked down the hallway. 

After Jon’s fifteenth text message and thirteenth phone call to Martin with no response, he was at a loss. Sasha was still out, and according to Tim didn’t have service, and so was not available. He was loathe to put Georgie into any sort of danger, and although the conversation with Melanie had gone well, one friendly conversation (while huge progress for him) was not enough to convince most people to go on some sort of foolish rescue mission that may turn out to be more of a sickbed visit, if Jon’s suspicions turned out to be nothing. 

He wasn’t hopeful that they would turn out to be nothing. Regardless of Elias possibly being involved or not, their jobs involved investigating sites and people surrounding events where malicious entities purposely hurt people. Jon already had an inkling that Elias only hired people without many family connections for that reason, although he had no proof besides the fact that it seemed a little too widespread to be a convenient coincidence otherwise. Even if his boss was telling the truth (which he didn’t hold out hope for, as it seemed Elias was resistant to Jon’s usual methods to ensure honesty), there were plenty of other terrible things that could’ve happened to Martin, and Jon was thinking about every terrible one as he sat with his head in his hands, leaning onto the desk in front of him. 

And then there was a knock at his office door. 

“Busy, I’m sorry, I can’t take a statement right now.” Jon called, but the door opened anyway. He was prepared to be irritated when he saw it was Tim, who wasted no time in sitting in the chair across from him and making demands. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” He said simply, making steady eye contact with Jon. 

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Playing dumb seemed to be Jon’s only option here. Tim was not fooled. 

“Okay, seriously Jon, feigning innocence is not a good look for you. I know you told Sasha some huge secret, and she’s been helping you with it, but she’s not here. And if something’s going on with Martin, if he’s hurt or something, you need to tell me right now.” Tim’s face was dead serious, and he looked determined. Jon shook his head. 

“Tim, I don’t want to get you involved. It could be dangerous-”

“And what, you’re going to take out the bad guys all by yourself? No offense, Jon, but Sasha gets stuff from the top shelf for you, and unless you have some badass ninja weapon knowledge that I don’t know about, I don’t see you going all the Matrix on anyone anytime soon. Let me help.” He was not taking no for an answer. Jon could feel a headache coming on. 

“I- alright, Tim.”

“Plus I’m capable too, you know I am, I do great work.” 

“I said alright, Tim.”

“And- oh.”

Jon allowed himself one more sigh for good measure, and resigned himself to telling the story all over again.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed my migraines. Let me… elaborate on them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chaper took SOOOO LONG to write. i hate writing plot stuff but i realized today it’s NECESSARY bc w every plot development we are one step further to the introduction of the loves of my life, basira and daisy, so i kind of forced myself to write this chapter. plus some possible jonmartin content next chapter?? who knows???? welcome to the slowest burn. the candle hasn’t even been lit yet. the content is the equivalent of the trip to buy the lighter. 
> 
> since we’re never getting an elias pov- since he and jon both serve the eye, the eye already knows what jon knows, and thus elias isn’t really granted any special insight into his mind now that jon is far along enough to actively relay information to the eye when he needs to, even if it’s unintentional. that’s why he’s so all over the place- he knows jon knows things he shouldn’t, and so he’s desperately trying to figure out what jon does and doesn’t know so he can adjust his plans accordingly. this is more plot stuff that i don’t really think is necessary exposition to include in the fic, but knowing it plugs up some of the plot holes that might be there otherwise if you’re like me and don’t often catch ‘easter egg’ sort of hints in writing. i tried to make it clear in the fic itself but i’m pretty sure i failed and don’t feel like rewriting it riP


	10. martin worms his way into jon's heart, opening new doors for the both of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, every time i post a chapter i spend the next five hours refreshing the page every 3 seconds so i can read comments the instant they’re posted. i really want to hear your guys’ opinion on every tiny thing please feed my writing with comments!!!!!

In retrospect, there were many other things Martin could’ve done than blindly listen to the instructions an obviously paranormal and untrustworthy stranger told him with absolutely no proof, but in fairness, all of his common sense had kind of gone out the window after Michael said Jon’s life was in danger. 

It had started very normal, Jon had been busy with the Ghost Hunt girl who had come in to give a statement, so he had handled the man that Rosie had said came in to talk about an experience he had regarding strange doors. She had already sent him into a room with pen and paper, but when Martin opened the door, he was very aware this was no ordinary statement-giver.

The man had locked eyes with Martin, and it had made Martin feel dizzy and out-of-sorts. He felt turned around and directionless, even though he certainly knew his way around the institute by then, and blinked at the man through a slight daze.

The man had told Martin that he wanted to help, that he wanted to be his friend, but ‘his dear Archivist’ had been making things difficult. He had said that Jon was in danger, that the ‘flesh-hive had been growing rash’, whatever that meant, and that it had to do with the disgusting silver worms they kept spotting around the Institute. Martin had wanted to refuse, but when he’d said no and turned to walk out the door, he somehow chose the wrong one. 

Martin had found himself outside a cemetery, Michael waiting nearby and beckoning him down the street. He followed, not quite sure what else to do. The world in front of him warped as he walked, like he was looking in a funhouse mirror, and he practically staggered after the man leading him into the unknown. 

Michael had walked into an abandoned building at the end of the road. The inside made it apparent that it used to be an old pub, there being a disgusting bar writhing with filth and worms in the center of the room. He noticed that a fire extinguisher on top that seemed to be much more grime-free. More worms crawled along the floor, but Martin had taken no notice as he had walked over them, trance-like, toward a mass on the far side of the room hidden in the shadows. It was moving slightly, and he could just hear a low groan of pain. 

Martin would live with the sight of the thing he saw next for his entire life. He staggered backwards desperately, letting loose a scream against his will, and backed up against the bar. The thing that Michael called the flesh hive lunged for him, worms crawling and dropping to the floor out of the thing’s eye sockets like grotesque tears. 

The grasping hands missed Martin’s shirt by inches and Martin screamed again, his own hands lucky landing upon the fire extinguisher. He aimed best he could and pulled the pin, spraying the foam and knocking the writhing thing to the floor. It twitched and lay still and he kept spraying, turning and turning until he had covered all the worms on the floor with a thick layer of foam. He almost sprayed Michael, when the man in question stepped up next to him and reached… into… Martin’s shoulder.

It was the worst pain Martin had ever felt, an intense feeling of horrific wrongness shooting through his arm, and he gasped and doubled over. Stars shot in front of his eyes and as they cleared he slowly made out a worm in Michael’s pinched grip. In his other hand was Martin’s phone, and he watched as Michael slipped it into his pocket.

“You didn’t have it before. Why give you an unfair advantage this time? Let’s see how long it takes the Archivist to find you.” Michael laughed, and Martin, blinded from pain and exhaustion and on the verge of passing out, felt himself falling backwards through a door.

He had woken up in his apartment, with no sign of his phone, and with his shoulder sending twinges of pain through his body whenever he moved his arm. Martin had gotten up immediately, planning on contacting Jon or Tim or Sasha or someone as quickly as possible. He had made it halfway to the door when he froze.

There was a worm, attempting to wriggle through the crack under the door. 

He stomped on it furiously, grabbing a nearby throw blanket and frantically stuffing it into the crack. The next several hours of his life felt uncomfortably like some sort of cat and mouse chase as he stuffed every window crack in his home full of towels, every tiny little place a worm might find its way into and of course because he was Martin and because the universe just couldn’t cut him a damn break, he ended up missing one.

He barely even felt the worm enter his skin on his arm, but the sheer panic made him scream anyway, and he wasn’t sure if he should attempt to stifle the sound. He both desperately wanted someone to come and help him and loathed the idea of any unsuspecting kindly neighbor of his coming to his flat to check on him and facing the disgusting worms unprepared. 

Not that Martin himself was prepared. He searched his flat for a flat object, and came up with only scissors and a corkscrew. 

He was not optimistic about his options.

The day turned into night, which slowly turned into day. Martin had removed the worm. He hadn’t bothered trying to be quiet about it, but no one had come to check on his screaming. It was just him, trying to stop the bleeding from his arm, and ignore the knocking that started up again any time he considered leaving his flat.

He lay on his bed, allowing himself the luxury of throwing himself a pity party. His mother wouldn’t notice his absence. He had no other family, no friends outside of work, and he wasn’t delusional enough to think Tim and Sasha would come by and check on him. They were kind enough to him, but Martin had no doubts that if he left the Institute they wouldn’t speak further. Work friends, not real ones. 

He wouldn’t be noticed absent at work until the next day at the earliest, and even then Jon was more likely to assume he was just being lazy and skipping over the notion he might be in trouble. Martin had done quite a good job isolating himself from the world. 

Jon had been right about him, when he was still cold and icy toward Martin, and unintentionally threw words he had heard all his life from his mother at him. Martin was no stranger to being called lazy, slow, stupid, inefficient, he could go on, and although Jon pretended these words were all referring to his job performance, it was obvious Jon had the same thoughts about Martin’s character.

But that was unfair, Martin reminded himself. He and Jon were on good terms now, and he considered the man a friend, but it was so hard to read what Jon was feeling at any given point that he wasn’t quite sure Jon felt the same about him. Jon had been the friendliest Martin had ever seen him, but that was still so far below the level of most people’s version of friendly that it was hard to remember that it was an improvement. The only person Martin had seen Jon show remotely any form of what could be considered affection toward was Sasha, and even then an awkward hug that Jon hadn’t initiated barely counted.

He had once again drifted into self-disparaging thoughts, letting himself beat himself up for his still-lingering schoolboy crush on Jon, when the knocking changed, and Martin could hear voices.

“Martin!” He heard someone yell from outside his door, and then a loud banging. The sound of glass breaking echoed from somewhere down the hallway, then Martin could make out a voice hollering something about losing sight of her. Whoever was yelling at his door swore loudly, then hurried down the hall. There was silence for a moment before a voice came again.

“Martin! Fuck’s sake, open your door!” It was unmistakably Tim, and the relief that shot through him made him forget about the pain he was in as he wrenched the door open, kicking scraps of fabric out of the way. He was greeted by a grinning Tim holding a fire extinguisher and covered in white foam. 

“Tim! What- how did you know- I didn’t have my phone, I couldn’t text or call anyone, and-”

“What happened to your arm?” Tim ignored Martin’s frantic questions, eyeing the bandage Martin had attempted to sloppily apply. 

“Oh, it was a worm, but I got it out.” Martin said, matter of factly. Tim blanched slightly, but had no time to respond before he was abruptly pushed out of the way. Martin almost fell backwards as Jon barreled forward and did something unexpected.

He hugged Martin. Martin hadn’t braced himself for the extra weight, however light, and hit the wall behind him as he staggered. Jon immediately let go, and Martin cursed himself, but was distracted by Jon’s hands patting his face, his arms, his torso, checking for any worms. 

“Martin, are you hurt? What happened? Your arm- Wait, don’t answer, you can tell me later, you need medical attention.” Jon gently took hold of his arm, inspecting the wound there. Martin held his breath, trying to ignore how close he and Jon were standing, and that a second ago Jon had hugged him. Martin. His bumbling assistant. He had never seen Jon voluntarily hug anyone, ever. He hadn’t thought it was possible, to be honest, and it hadn’t exactly been the most enjoyable hug, with the combined pain of his shoulder and his arm threatening to make him pass out again, but he had time to analyze every moment of it later. Other things were more important.

“Jon, I need to tell you- it was a thing, a creature, it called itself Michael, it said you were in danger. That your life was at risk.” Jon nodded as if this was no news to him, obviously paying much more attention to inspecting every inch of Martin to check for worms. Martin shook him off. “Jon, listen to me! This is important!”

“I know, Martin, and I’ll listen later, but for now we need to get you out of here. She could come back, and I can’t exactly stay here to prevent that. It’s probably best if you stay at the Institute for a short while.” Jon was finally satisfied that Martin didn’t have any worms still on him, and his injuries were limited to the worm exit hole on his arm and small mark on his shoulder. 

“Speaking of her coming back, can we make our exit happen sooner rather than later?” Tim asked, glancing behind him at the door. “Grab your shit and let’s go.”

“But Jon, I have to tell you-” Martin tried to get the words out even as he was being steered toward his bedroom to pack a bag, and the other man sighed. 

“Martin, I think I might have some things to tell you as well.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember the nyctophobe that gets locked inside a box and used as a human fear battery in manuela’s statement? who never gets brought up again? i think about that a lot, actually, but anyway, my headcanon is that’s what jane prentiss was using martin as, which is why they’re willing to let him go relatively easily- because they don’t really care all that much about him particularly, and they’re not ready to attack the archivist just yet.
> 
> it’s april 18th in story, which means only five months until basira shows up, i am eagerly counting down the chapters. i hope this mashup of martin and sasha’s experiences in canon flows okay? i wanted to kind of show how jon’s decision to keep martin in the dark sort of directly led to this, because if he had told him everything like he did sasha, he would’ve been fine. his hero complex doesn’t work in the long run, and the only way to get through this is for the team to all know all the information to best defend themselves. 
> 
> i don’t know how i feel about this chapter BUT!!!!!! 3/3 assistant archivists are now considered trustworthy. so proud of this disaster squad. now to have martin actually receive sympathy for going through a terrifying ordeal


	11. this is an unprofessional work environment i’m filing a complaint with HR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 4/20 i plan on doing nothing but smoking and writing this fic most of the day, so expect at least one more update! i’m kind of living bc in story it’s april 19th 2016, only 2 days after melanie showed up, and this takes place late at night so it’s the same day both as i’m writing the fic and in the fic it is so weirdly satisfying
> 
> also, i, lizzie, with the authority of ‘i’m the one writing this bullshit’, solemnly swear i will not kill off martin!!!!! or anyone else for that matter!!!! besides probably nikola and maybe elias idk!!!!!! but no deaths of any protagonists. that includes my main man gerry although he doesn’t show up for like ages.

If he was to trace the blame to this to any one specific person, it would probably be Sasha, but Jon was choosing to blame each of his assistants equally for the position he was currently in.

It was Sasha who brought the whole thing up as a joke, Tim who had an inability to not take any joke too far, and Martin who was just paranoid enough to accept the situation with less protest than there otherwise might have been. This left Jon as the voice of reason, attempting to explain that an ‘archive sleepover’ was the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard of. Sasha had informed him that his participation was not mandatory, but if he didn’t attend, or showed up in anything other than PJs, or protested what she deemed ‘more than a ridiculous amount of whining for some friendly bonding time, Jon, come oe’, she was going to stop ‘voice of reason-ing’ Tim for an entire month.

This was unacceptable. The stakes were far too high, and so Jon found himself in a threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants, staring with no small amount of trepidation at the sleeping bags set up outside his office door. He couldn’t argue that the reasoning behind it was sound- Martin was obviously shaken, his vision darting around to try and spot any worms creeping into the corner of his vision, and it seemed unwise to leave him alone in the Archive overnight. Especially that this time around, Jon was aware that as safe as the Archives were, Martin staying there basically painted a huge target on his back.

They had attempted just Martin staying alone the night before, and Jon had come in to see his office covered in CO2 foam and Martin in the middle of it all with a sheepish expression. He could hardly blame the man, he was jumpy himself, feeling the need to glance over his shoulder every ten seconds even as he made a conscious effort to relax. Martin looked miserable as he helped clean up, pale, with bloodshot tired eyes, and Jon was just making vague plans to offer Martin tea, or, something, he wasn’t quite sure what gesture best said ‘my apologies you got attacked by worms, I hope you were alright with me initiating embarrassing physical contact without permission’.

Jon had attempted to give Martin some space, but Martin seemed to be inserting himself into any room where there was another person and sticking there. He supposed it made sense, after a day or two being trapped alone, so he stopped avoiding Martin, and had been rewarded with smiles and Martin once putting a hand gently on his shoulder to not startle him as he moved behind Jon. Jon thought about the small touch for over an hour afterwards, moving through a constant cycle of trying to put it out of his mind, failing, and overanalyzing what it could mean and why. 

And that was yet another issue, that Jon had somehow lost all communication between his brain and his heart for a moment when he hugged Martin and now he was terrified of scaring him off entirely. What had he been thinking? The man had just had a traumatic experience, of course he didn’t want his boss throwing himself at him afterwards. He had been reassured slightly as Martin had seemed relatively unfazed by that part of his experience, at least, but when Sasha suggested the fateful sleepover his worries came back ten-fold. He had been informed in explicit terms that he was not allowed to hole up in his office for the duration of the night, as that would defeat the purpose- to provide Martin with company while hopefully avoiding feeling like he was being babysat. 

So he dropped his blankets on the floor near the door to his office, to provide him with hasty escape if necessary, and plugged his phone into the wall. Georgie had promised to provide him with moral support, as Sasha had been heavily hinting that she wanted to play some childish sleepover games that Jon would undoubtedly be roped into. He did not have high hopes it would be anything short of embarrassing. 

Tim had already set up his sleeping bag next to Sasha, and Martin’s was near his own desk, so they ended up in a vague sort of circle, Tim and Sasha’s heads bent in hushed conversation while Martin and Jon tried to awkwardly look anywhere but at each other. Luckily, Tim soon broke the quiet.

“Alright. Truth or dare, or Never Have I Ever?” He grinned, sitting cross legged and learning his full weight on Sasha, who shoved him off.

“I vote truth or dare!” She chimed in. 

“I vote we sleep quietly,” Jon offered, not optimistic. Sasha booed. 

“Jon, don’t be boring. You have truth powers, don’t you?”

“I suppose you could refer to them as such.” He looked decidedly unimpressed. ‘Truth powers’ was not the phrasing he would’ve preferred. 

“Okay, but they make people tell the truth. So they’d be perfect for a sleepover! You should test them! You barely know how they work. Think of this as science.” She grinned widely and easily at him, and Jon for the first time was completely sure the affection that thrummed through him at her familiar bubbliness was all his. 

“Only if I receive permission from everyone here first.” He made the decision faster than he knew he would have not long ago, and ignored Martin’s shocked expression. Tim shrugged with a nod, and Sasha nodded eagerly along with him. Jon made eye contact with Martin, who was vaguely pink and seemed to be the only one thinking about the decision before making it. He finally gave a single and decisive nod, and Jon turned back to Sasha. 

“Alright then. We could do Truth or Truth, but after someone asks a question Jon confirms so we know that it’s honest?” She looked around the room for confirmation. No one outwardly protested, and she took that as a sign to continue. “Hm. Martin. Truth or truth?”

Martin paused. “Wait, do I actually have to choose?”

“Yes,” said both Sasha and Tim, in unison. Martin glanced at Jon, who put most of his effort into giving Martin a tiny smile. This seemed to bolster Martin, and he turned back to Sasha.

“Well then truth, I suppose.” 

“Most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you.” She answered immediately.

“That’s the lamest question.” Tim muttered, and quickly received an elbow to the side. 

“Jon, now you have to ask him.” Sasha’s impatience was obvious in her every movement, but Jon took a moment to lock eyes with Martin, who gave him a small nod. 

“Martin. What’s the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you?”

The night went on like this for quite some time, until Sasha grew bored of testing Jon’s powers after they learned Martin’s most embarrassing moment was when his mother had scolded him in front of his entire primary school class once, Tim’s greatest fear was the circus, Sasha’s biggest secret was that her brother had stolen something from a store once and she had taken the fall for him, and Jon’s favourite ice cream was rum-raisin. Tim had raised a fuss about lame questions then, which made Martin indignantly pipe up that he was just genuinely curious about Jon’s ice cream preferences. 

Sasha suggested they switch to proper truth or dare. Jon was very wary of this, but at least grateful that he would only have to worry about using his abilities half of the time. He was vaguely worried the Eye would be displeased at him using his powers as something to enhance a party game. It had also become very late, and he hoped that the switching of games hopefully meant the social part of the night would come to an end and he could finally get some sleep. Tim, meanwhile, was very excited at the prospect of getting to include dares, and in retrospect that was most certainly Jon’s first clue that things were going to go very wrong. 

“Kiss the most attractive person in the room,” Tim said to Martin, and immediately puckered his own lips. Jon’s eyes flicked to Martin, faster than he meant them to, and Martin’s face went white as he stood up, looking between the three others in the room frantically. 

Jon whole-heartedly expected Martin to walk over to Sasha or Tim. He was expecting this so completely that, when Martin knelt down next to his sleeping bag instead, he very narrowly avoided head-butting Martin as the man pressed a very gentle, barely there kiss to his cheek.

He could feel himself blushing before he was aware of anything else, and thankfully narrowly avoided raising his fingers to the spot Martin had kissed as he caught himself just in time. He also didn’t stammer out a “thanks”, a second immediate instinct he had. Instead he just looked up at Martin as the other man avoided Jon’s gaze, sitting back down on top of his sleeping back and stubbornly looking across the room. Jon decided to think about what had just happened when Tim’s eyes weren’t on him, and it seemed Martin had thought the same, as he changed the subject as soon as he possibly could. 

“Sasha, truth or dare?” Martin asked, chewing on his lip. Sasha’s wide eyes were still on Jon, and she started a little at the sound of her own name. Next to her, Tim’s Cheshire Cat grin was growing steadily wider as he looked back and forth between Martin and Jon. 

“Truth!” She yawned, leaning her head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim poked her forehead.

“Everyone knows you’re supposed to pick dare.”

“Well, everyone knows you suck.” She got out sleepily. 

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever gotten?” 

“M’ camera, probably.” Sasha pointed at the Polaroid on the wall, flashing a smile at Jon. “Paranormal prevention.” 

“Paranormal prevention?” Martin asked.

“Yeah! Jon told you about the things that pretend to be people, right? Polaroid photos will show the real original person, even if digital photos change.” 

“I’m very grateful we know that much, at least. I think everything will go much more smoothly this time around with you here, Sasha.” Jon smiled at her, pleased to hear the camera had been appreciated. His expression quickly changed to confusion as she froze.

“Why- Wait. Jon. Why would I not be here?” Sasha looked to Tim and Martin for any explanation, but their eyes had also turned to Jon. 

“I- Um. Well.” He stuttered over himself. 

“You said that it was a researcher who was replaced.” Jon struggled to try and read the expression on Sasha’s face. It wasn’t a good expression.

“Jon, was it me?” She asked quietly. “I won’t be angry with you for not telling me. I just want to know. Last time around- was it me? Who was replaced?”

Jon nodded. Sasha made steady eye contact with him. 

“How long was it? Before you guys found out. How long before you knew I was dead?”

“Around nine months,” He replied. She had grabbed Tim’s hand somewhere in the last few minutes, and was now squeezing it so hard Tim had to tap her to remind her he needed blood circulation. “I’m so sorry, Sasha. I- I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s fine, Jon.” Sasha made an effort to smile, though the end result was unconvincing. She paused a moment, and Jon watched as she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her smile was happy and normal. 

“It isn’t fine, Sasha, it’s-” Tim started, his voice thick with an emotion Jon couldn’t place.

“Tim!” She cut him off, turning to him with the same smile still on her face. “I said that it was fine, and I’m the one who died in an alternate timeline, so I get to decide! Jon, truth or dare.”

“Sasha, I really don’t think-” Jon tried to protest. It hardly seemed like the time.

“Truth! Or dare! Jon!” Sasha emphasized each word, leaving no room for argument. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he didn’t have much choice but to listen. 

So the game continued. Sasha shut down any further discussion of the topic of alternate timelines, or work related conversations in general. This left them with little to talk about, as it was largely the only thing they had in common. The game petered out. 

Jon lay for a while before falling asleep, not used to the quiet sounds of others breathing as he tried to drift off. That’s what he told Martin, when the other man asked why he had been up so late. The truth was it was hard to shake the tiny voice tucked away in Jon’s head, which kept reminding him over and over that any of the pain Sasha was feeling right now was all Jon’s fault. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading the wiki entries for tma characters is so fucking funny all of the comments on tim’s page are either ‘i hate this man and am glad he’s gone’ or ‘sexy king. i miss him every day.’ 
> 
> the alternative title for this chapter is ‘sasha, repression is not a healthy coping mechanism and you need to show and feel emotions to process them’.
> 
> this was originally supposed to all be fluff but i realized i really wanted to write sasha backstory and develop her more as a character since she got the least development in canon, so i kinda had sneak some angst in there at the end. you got your jonmartin content though sooooooooo
> 
> also i definitely did not even reread this chapter before i posted it so its decidedly unedited, if i fucked up anywhere as usual lmk <3


	12. to the left to the left. put your neglectful childhood in a box to the left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 IS MY LUCKY NUMBER so of course it's a sasha chapter because it's really fun writing from her POV 
> 
> this whole fic is just found family slow burn. you've been bamboozled. bet you never saw it coming

Sasha felt like she was coming undone, just a little.

How were you supposed to cope with the news that you were dead? That the only reason you weren’t was because somehow your boss coincidentally ended up being able to see the future just enough to prevent it? How was she supposed to know that in some other universe, she was gone, would never breathe or move or talk again, and just keep moving forward like nothing was wrong? She didn’t want to spend every day thinking about when she’d die, but after learning what had happened to an alternate her a week ago, she couldn’t stop. 

She knew that she would die eventually, obviously, everyone did, but something about knowing the where and when and how made it feel so much more real. It was all well and good for Tim to reassure her by just telling her to avoid that table, but it didn’t help much.

How it had happened was probably the worst part. The idea of Tim and Martin greeting that thing as it walked in, took her chair, and joked with them made her want to be sick. Nine months. For nine months, she had been dead, and no one noticed. Sasha knew she couldn’t exactly blame Tim and Martin for not noticing, as apparently the NotThem were always so convincing even the spouses or children or parents of the one missing didn’t even notice. This train of thought however always led her to the mental image of some grotesque thing who wasn’t her sitting among her siblings, its disguise looking glaringly out of place with blonde hair and blue eyes amongst the rest of her dark haired and dark eyed family. 

Nine. Months. From July to February. 

Jon had apologized to her endlessly, doing his usual self-blaming thing instead of just  _ listening  _ to her for once when she said she didn’t blame him in the least. How could she? Sasha had very strong opinions on the foolishness of blaming yourself for something you didn’t even do, and Jon certainly wasn’t the one who murdered her and took her place. He just hadn’t noticed, but neither had anyone else, and apparently he was the second  _ to  _ notice, after Melanie. 

But of course her reasoning was dismissed. Jon pretended to listen, sure, but she knew the man well enough to know by now he was lost in some deep spiral in his own head where he managed to muddle things up enough that he believed he was responsible for all wrong-doing and evil in the world. He was as bad as Martin, that one. Sasha had long since resigned herself to being the only sensible one in the office, but it was getting to the point of ridiculousness. 

She tried to make everything go back to normal, but her eyes would stray to the Polaroid taped up on the wall, or she would think about hiding a voice recording somewhere, just in case. Sasha had never been one for paranoia. She liked to consider herself rather brave, in fact, but the solidity of the fact, the absolute knowledge that her death had happened and she knew exactly how, scared her. 

She had responsibilities, dammit. She was young, dammit, she had so much left to do, she was going to move on from the Magnus Institute someday, especially if they were going to keep passing her over for promotions. She had people who would miss her!

Well, she had Tim. And her younger siblings, who she didn’t see all that often anyway. But she had a fish, who would probably die if she wasn’t there to take care of it, and that was important. 

Sasha put her head in her hands for a moment, closing her eyes. She just needed a second to breathe, just a second to calm down and stop her thoughts from dizzying her, but she could feel tears squeezing their way through her clenched shut eyelashes. 

Jon’s door was closed as he was taking a statement, thankfully, and she prayed no one was looking at her as she got up quickly and left the room, heading for a secluded staircase no one ever took. Sasha’s pace hurried as she heard footsteps behind her, but they didn’t slow, and she whirled as the first tears started running down her cheeks. 

“Tim, I’m fine, go do work before- oh.” It was Martin standing behind her, slightly out of breath. 

“Sasha, are you alright?” He looked concerned, and Sasha felt the anger she had mustered up simmer down. She nodded, and tried to smile, but she assumed the obvious crying was probably spoiling that image. 

“I just need- a moment. To collect myself.” She took another step toward the staircase, and Martin echoed it, making it clear he was planning on following. Sasha didn’t have the energy to argue and made her way to the steps. She sat on the top one, leaning against the wall. It was almost impossible to hear conversations on the staircase unless you were actually on the staircase, and it was a rather inconvenient one to use as it only led up one floor, from the basement to the ground level, before stopping.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Martin asked, taking a seat next to her and fidgeting with his hands. She took a second to look at him. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and it showed in the slowness of his words, how it took him a second longer than normal to take in and process. 

“There’s not all that much to talk about, besides I’m scared,” She admitted quietly. “Paranormal stuff- even when I was in Artefact Storage, I was scared, yeah, but of the unknown, I guess? Now I’m scared because I know scary stuff is going to happen, and kind of what it’s going to be, and I know I’m going to have to face it.” 

“You’re not facing it alone, though,” Martin said earnestly. She nudged him with her shoulder slightly.

“I know, Martin. Sap. It’s not just that though, I guess I just thought if I ever went missing, people would be more concerned?” 

Martin immediately went to interrupt, and she shook her head.

“I know you didn’t know that thing wasn’t me, I’m not bitter or anything. Well I guess I am. Not at you, or Jon or Tim.”

There was a pause for a long moment as both of them tried to find words. Sasha had more luck than Martin. 

“Y’know Jon says no one came to look for me? After the NotMe got locked away, I mean, and ‘Sasha’ was missing. I asked him, and made him tell me, even though I knew I wouldn’t like the answer. I wasn’t expecting my parents to come look, I haven’t spoken to them in ages, but not one of my siblings came. I have three younger ones, and two of them are adults now. Looked after them my whole life.” She sighed, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. Martin made a small sympathetic noise. “That’s the oldest daughter curse, you know, basically becoming the third parent. Especially when the first two parents are like mine were. Do you have siblings?”

“N-no, I don’t,” Martin responded, and Sasha looked a little wistful for a moment.

“I always kind of wanted to be an only child. Thought it would be easier, being totally independent, since my parents were always gone. Then I could just read all day instead of changing diapers and cooking food and doing things an eight year old should not have been allowed to be doing. Then I got a little older and thought I wanted to grow up to be a stay at home mum, since I already seemed to have a knack for it. Thank fuck that didn’t happen.” She laughed. 

“I- I take care of my mum,” Martin started, unsteadily. “It’s not easy taking care of yourself when no one’s taking care of you, let alone someone else.” 

Sasha smiled at him. “Yeah. You don’t talk much about your mum, do you two get along?” 

Martin snorted involuntarily, and shook his head. “I love her, I do, but. She doesn’t want much to do with me, I think.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sasha turned to face Martin, who shrugged.

“It’s alright. I can’t do much to change it.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t it suck?” She stretched out her legs, and Martin laughed a little.

“Yeah. It does suck.” 

“Well.” Sasha moved to get up, holding out a hand to haul Martin to his feet as well. When he took it, she pulled a little too fast, and caught Martin in a tight hug. “Guess we’ll have to take care of each other now, then. Can’t let the caretaking instincts get rusty.” Martin grinned back at her, and they started back toward the Archives.

Sasha felt like she might not come undone, actually. She felt like everything might be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to reread when elias taunts martin about his mom for this chapter in case i missed any details and i’m suffering 
> 
> this chapter specifically is dedicated to my sister who has not read this fic or listened to the magnus archives but i get to hug her later for the first time in over a month today so i'm VERY happy


	13. it's just martin thinking. that's the whole chapter. sorry lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am watching critical role for the first time and trying to read the wiki to understand what’s going on while writing this fic and doing research for it and can i just say my adhd ass is thriving for the first time since my job got cancelled when the schools in wisconsin closed. multitasking ROYALTY

Martin had never felt so brave.

It had been a moment of pure instinct, honestly, but it made him feel better to imagine there was forethought behind the action, as it painted him a little bit more courageously. He had thought about it, to some extent- it would’ve been easier to quickly press a kiss to Tim’s cheek, he knew that was Tim’s intention, or Sasha’s, as she would’ve smiled and that would’ve been the end of it. 

But he wanted to be daring. He already felt bad enough that he’d been so visibly jumpy that the others had sacrificed their night to make him feel better about sleeping in the Archives as evil worms attempted to make their way into its walls, and he wanted to be brave so desperately. So he had been honest, and he couldn’t find that any minor regret he felt really took away from the feeling of absolute happiness that had gone through him at Jon’s lack of outrage at the gesture.

Martin knew that wasn’t exactly a confession, or even enough it warranted a serious conversation or anything of the sort. He considered it a freebie, almost, a sort of non-risky move that didn’t lead to anything more. Maybe it would be enough to get rid of the lingering crush?

It wasn’t. He knew that for certain because he couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his mind. At the time he had a mild thought that it would’ve been easier if he was under the influence, but he was rather glad he hadn’t been, as the thought of the memory being dulled or fuzzy in any way was unthinkable. Martin was grateful for the crystal-sharp clarity of the sight of Jon’s face so close to his, the feeling of warmth and stubble as he pressed the kiss to Jon’s cheek, and the absolute pride and relief that flowed through him as he realized he had actually done it.

Martin spent so much time thinking about the actions he was going to take that sometimes the hardest part wasn’t making the decision, but acting on it. He had countless memories of himself as a child, on top of the monkey bars, thinking ‘this is it! the moment I’ll jump!’ and then failing to ever act, the embarrassment rushing through him as he slowly and cautiously climbed down. As he grew older, it was words he couldn’t get out, that choked up and swirled in his throat without leaving it. It was every almost-confrontation with his mother- convincing himself in the interludes, when things were okay, that the next time she snapped at him, he’d stand up for himself. He’d do something about it, shout even, toss back all the thoughts he’d ever had but never said, and then when the moment came it was so real he could imagine himself doing it. Martin would plan out elaborate speeches in his head, about how he was a person, worthy of respect, and didn’t have to put up with her hurtful words. He never actually spoke. His mother would continue using him as a verbal punching bag and he would continue making her breakfast in the morning and telling himself he loved her and she would eventually see that and love him in return.

So the absolute joy was in knowing he had actually done it, that had been real, he had done something instead of just hoping and wishing for it to happen. The events happening immediately afterwards, the revelation of Sasha’s fate in another world, ruined his mood quite thoroughly, but the conversation he had had with Sasha a week after the sleepover seemed to raise hers and his in turn. Martin had thought he and Sasha were friends before, but it had always been during work hours only. In the month after their conversation he had grown much closer with her, had even seen her apartment and met her Betta fish, Sweet Pea, and she had started sitting with him during breaks and inviting him along with her and Tim when they went out for lunch. He usually declined those invitations, as he had found a routine he very much preferred, however unexpected.

Jon had started eating lunch with him. He hadn’t made a fuss or anything, but one day Martin was sitting at the small table reserved for eating when Jon had sat down across from him, eating a granola bar while deeply invested in a book. Martin had been quite shocked. Jon was not only eating, he was eating at lunchtime, and he had purposely chosen to sit with another person. And that person was Martin. 

He had tried not to get too excited or read too much into it, simply eating his own lunch like normal and pretending to read some random magazine Tim had left there. The next day, Tim sat with Martin for lunch, and Jon stayed in his office. 

But it hadn’t been a one-time fluke. Without fail, any time Tim and Sasha were both out, Jon would eat his lunch with Martin. Occasionally they would have short conversations, usually at least a menial remark about the weather or a recent statement or something of the like, but as the weeks passed and Martin came to expect Jon’s presence, they would sometimes talk about more personal topics. Martin learned Jon had been raised by his grandmother, which was why he often missed any pop culture reference from before 2005. He loved fruitcake, and didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t. He had a habit of taking pictures of the oven before he left his flat, as he was forgetful enough when he was distracted or focused intently on something else he was worried he might leave it on. 

Martin shared about himself in turn, telling Jon more personal stories gradually over the month. He tried to avoid talking about his mother but let slip they weren’t as close as Martin would like them to be, and afterwards did his best to stick to lighter topics. He told Jon he had never left the country, been on a rollercoaster, or even a theme park for that matter, leaving out one detail- that it was because he never really had anyone able to take him there. He revealed he loved making tea for everyone because it made him proud he knew everyone well enough to have their tea preferences memorized. He shared that his favorite sweater was the one he wore most often, a wooly green oversized one, with a pattern of frogs jumping along the bottom. It was hard for Martin to find oversized clothing, so he’d been ecstatic to find it in a charity shop.

This sort of easy friendship was something Martin had hoped for when he had taken the job, but had quickly realized at the time Jon was not in the least interested in his coworkers outside of a purely work-related capacity. Tim and Sasha, meanwhile, were wrapped up in their own interpersonal drama, and didn’t seem interested in Martin most of the time. He had not predicted weird mystical powers would have anything to do with the four of them growing closer, but Martin couldn’t deny the bonding power of a shared secret. Even Tim had softened somewhat, now that he was in the loop, and his teasing took on more of a light quality. Martin was able to laugh along instead of trying to hide his reactions as Tim inevitably found his weak spots and pressed on them, as he had in the past. Sasha still teased him occasionally about his crush on Jon, but it was accompanied with advice now, and tended to be much more subtle when it was in front of Jon himself. Martin found himself hardly minding it. It reminded him somewhat of what he always imagined having a sibling would feel, when he watched sitcoms and the like. 

It was comfortable. It was happy, light, easy, and Martin found himself wondering if it had always been this easy to make friends and he just hadn’t noticed before, lost in his own head. He couldn’t risk doing anything to mess it up.

But he wanted to. Badly. The closer he grew to Jon, the more he felt the urge to put an arm around him when they sat close together. He found his thoughts straying to kissing Jon’s cheek again, and when he made the mistake of entertaining a particularly nice daydream about doing so, they started straying to thoughts of kissing Jon’s lips. It would be so easy to do so, now that they were friends. Jon had started growing more comfortable with the assistants in his personal space, and Martin had seen Tim clap Jon on the shoulder several times without Jon even flinching. This was definite progress, and he was even more emboldened by how Jon seemed to even be actively seeking out human contact, even smiling at Sasha’s hugs instead of blindly panicking like he had before. 

This wasn’t enough to convince Martin to act on his feelings. For one thing, there was the friend Jon kept texting. He didn’t know much about her, but Jon referred to her with affection in his voice, and eagerly checked his phone immediately when it buzzed. Martin was no fool- he knew what that meant, and wasn’t about to attempt any romance when Jon was obviously dating or at least talking to someone else. He didn’t even know if the other man was straight, but this seemed to hint heavily towards yes. For another, being brave enough to kiss someone’s cheek in a game meant for teenagers was quite different from being brave enough to tell a most likely straight man who had never shown an inkling of romantic feelings toward Martin that he had feelings for him. 

So he consoled himself with his newfound friendships. It was, in fact, the first time he had had friends this close. It was hard to form lasting relationships when you had little to no self esteem and weren’t often able to leave the house for long amounts of time- Martin’s thoughts during any social gathering growing up would eventually turn to what would happen if some terrible accident was occuring at home and he was off gallivanting with some strangers, irresponsibly ignoring his mother who depended on him, and who was all alone at home. Martin would return, always already in a thick cloud of guilt and regret and a little frantic as he checked on his mother, who would always scoff at the sight of him and ask him if he had actually managed to convince someone besides her to spend time with him for once. This cycle had continued for quite some time, serving to break his resolve down quite thoroughly. 

More recently, now that he lived on his own and his mother had an in-home nurse to look after her, he didn’t really have a reason besides his own awkwardness for why he didn’t leave much. After he started staying at the Archives, even as his paranoia about worms grew, Sasha had appointed herself in charge of making sure he went outside at least once every two days. Martin had agreed that that was a fair compromise, under the condition that Jon was also under this fresh-air obligation. This had led to a couple Archive Outings, as Tim referred to them, where all four of them would go out and have lunch together, and on one occasion even after-work drinks. This had gone surprisingly well, with a tipsy Jon ranting about his passion for some obscure book series that only Sasha had heard of. Martin was happy to listen anyway, eyes fixed on Jon’s face, which was lit up in a smile. This had become less and less rare, as time passed. 

Martin realized, then, for the first time, he had what might be considered a social life. He found himself quite thoroughly enjoying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys appreciate how much britishness i’m trying to throw in here while knowing jack shit about britain. what the fuck is a charity shop i wanted to type thrift store SO BAD
> 
> yeah it’s a dialogue free chapter leave me ALONE. it’s kind of just filler because i wanted to do a timeskip but it felt like cheating to skip an entire month of character development so you guys get the recap instead, i’m sorry!!!!!!!!!! i promise the next chapter will be more interaction heavy! and hopefully better than this brief interlude chapter!
> 
> also i’ve been using the magnus archives timeline on the wiki, but i just noticed some of the years are incorrect (it shows melanie going and investigating the train car with the smell of blood before she’s even given her first statement with jon, and i’m almost 100% sure that’s impossible). as far as i can tell everything in this fic lines up with the canon timeline except martin’s experiences with michael and the worms, which takes place later, as jon was able to prevent when it initially happened in the canon timeline (which was end of february to march 12th 2016, here he’s only in his apartment 1 day, from the afternoon/evening of april 17th to the late afternoon of the 18th. last chapter took place about a week afterwards, so april 25ish??? and this chapter has a short timeskip to early june, around two months before jane prentiss attacks the archives on july 29th. there’ll probably be another time skip next chapter.
> 
> MY TUMBLR IS @DIFFENBACHIAE!! come b my friend!! send me an ask with a suggestion for this fic! cyberbully me! idc!


	14. buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter before jane prentiss vs CO2: electric boogaloo

Jon was struggling, just a bit.

By all accounts, he felt like he should be doing much better. He was happy, in a way that he had never experienced before. He could now consider himself honestly, properly friends with his assistants and he finally understood some of his job and the mystery surrounding it instead of feeling like he was blindly stumbling through the dark.

But Jane Prentiss was fast approaching, and still he found himself without much of a plan. His visions had shown him a lot of the attack, let him know what he was facing and what had happened last time, which was helpful. However now they had almost completely stopped showing him useful information, as of late, and he was unsure of even the date on which Prentiss was going to make her move. Jon reminded himself on an almost daily basis that at least this time around no one was going to get replaced by a monster. His assistants were all well aware of the spiral-patterned hypnotic table (which had been delivered by Breekon and Hope, right on schedule), but that didn’t mean nothing else terrible could happen to Sasha, or Martin or Tim for that matter. At least he had his lighter, and running his thumb over the spider-web pattern had become something of a nervous tick.

He still felt underprepared, and the alternate version of himself was not of any use. That was another issue. The visions had stopped showing him useful information, but they had shifted drastically to entirely unhelpful images centered around, for some reason, Martin.

The first one was shortly after the first time they had all gone out for drinks together. Martin had brought him tea the day afterwards, and Jon had thanked him as usual, almost spilling the entire mug as he attempted to drink from it without moving his eyes away from his laptop screen. Martin had paused as he witnessed this.

“Take care of yourself, Jon, alright?” Martin had said over his shoulder as he left the room, and Jon had made a noncommittal noise in response before his vision went blurry and his eyes surged with pain, the familiar red-hot feeling shooting through his temples and making his head burn. He cried out, slipping slightly to the side and spilling the tea on his exposed arm. Jon barely noticed this through the images racing in front of his eyes. 

He could see Martin, but this one was much older, with his gingery curls almost past his ears and his eyes more sad. Jon could just make out what looked like himself, but the version he had seen in the mirror as his very first glimpse of the possible future. He noticed, uncomfortably, that the scars he was confused by at first he could now place as worm exit marks. This did not bode well.

“Take care of yourself, Jon. For me and you, okay?” Jon was seeing this from the perspective of his future self, now, as the future Martin stepped closer to him and put a hand on his face. It was a phantom touch and Jon felt almost robbed; he couldn’t feel the warmth of Martin’s fingertips on his skin. 

And then Martin leaned in further, and he was kissing future Jon. Present Jon found himself watching from the outside again. He couldn’t look away. What was this? What did this mean? 

“I will. I promise.” Jon saw himself smile softly, his future self pressing a kiss first to Martin’s cheek and then his lips. The Martin that wasn’t his Martin looked at the Jon who wasn’t Jon with such unfiltered adoration, such love in his gaze. They were standing as close as possible to each other, hands intertwined, heads leaning in like they were sharing a secret.

Jon wanted, more than anything, to feel the touch that his future self was accepting so easily. He wanted to know the sensation of Martin close to him, of another person in his space so utterly and completely. He felt something deep inside his heart give a painful tug as he watched the easy affection between the couple. 

Jon had come back to himself inside his office with a rush of his forgotten pain hitting him at once. He found himself crying out again, but this time it was met with a cool cloth pressed against his forehead, and someone next to him wincing at the loud noise.

“Jon! Jon. It’s alright, Martin and I are here. Are you okay? What did you see?” Sasha was the one pressing the towel to his forehead, and her words were too loud and echoed around his head as he tried to make himself focus. He could make out Martin cleaning up the tea he had spilled near his arm, and he tried to move his arm out of the way. For a long moment, nothing happened, and then he managed to put his arm directly in the still-steaming puddle of liquid and yelped in pain again.

“Jon! Be careful!” Sasha took his hand, moving his arm out of the way, and didn’t release her grip. Jon was not complaining. The touch of her fingers on his wrist was grounding, helping him come back to his own head a little faster, and he winced as his regaining control was apparently synonymous with his head splitting in two. It was not a pleasant feeling. 

Jon tried to hide any emotions on his face as he stole a glance at Martin, then immediately looked away as he saw Martin’s eyes already on him. Martin quickly averted his gaze, pretending again to mop up tea on the already dry desk. 

Sasha seemed satisfied after only another half an hour of fussing over Jon, punctuated every five minutes or so by Martin coming up with yet another excuse to come into Jon’s office. Eventually Tim put a stop to this, telling Sasha that Jon was old enough to put on his own Pokemon bandaid, and to leave him alone to work. He winked at Jon when Sasha wasn’t looking, and Jon gratefully was granted peace and quiet.

He attempted to analyze what he had seen, but any useful information he might have taken away from the vision was ruined by the image of Martin leaning in to kiss him burned into the back of his eyelids. Jon was distracted over and over again by the part of him that wanted to know what it felt like when it wasn’t in a vision. A voice in his head kept reminding him that nothing was stopping him, that it would be easy to call Martin into his office and tell him everything that he had seen, and ask him what he thought about it.

It was, however, easy to resist these urges. Not easy enough to make them go away entirely, but Jon did find the thought of how absolutely disastrous that scenario would play out enough to stop him from entertaining the possibility of seriously acting on it out more than a minute or two.

And that wasn’t the end of it. No, there were three more similar visions by July. The others were much smaller than that one. The next flash he had wasn’t for another week, and it was just the image of Martin laying next to Jon in an unfamiliar room, his face smoothed out in sleep. It was more of the feeling that startled Jon than the vision- he was filled with a deep protectiveness, the absolute knowledge he would fight to protect this person laying next to him, the fear that what he had built with Martin might be taken from him. Jon didn’t know what this could mean.

The next two were sparse, and only lasted a few seconds each time. There was a vision where it was a snapshot of a single moment, an unfamiliar Arab woman with sharp intimidating features at odds with her floral dress and delicate gold earrings grinning at him next to Martin, who was wearing a similar, somewhat mischievous, grin of his own. It was another feeling-based vision, but this time Jon’s heart was light, happy, and affectionate. He could tell he cared deeply for both the people in front of him, even though the current version of him couldn’t even name one of them. 

The last vision was once again only him and Martin. This one had come just a few days earlier, July 20th or so to the best of Jon’s memory, and had shaken him to the core. He could easily recognize his office in the background of the vision, but it had been rearranged, and he could see boxes of tapes he didn’t recognize along with notebooks and pens scattered around the room. The Martin in the vision was leaning over Jon where he sat in his desk chair, and Jon could see a smile on his own face. 

“Martin. Quite unprofessional.” Jon could hear himself say, but the smile on future-Martin’s face only widened as he leaned in to kiss future-Jon. This Martin was different from the one Jon knew- he seemed bolder, confident in his movements with no hint of clumsiness as he balanced half on future-Jon’s lap and half on the arm of the chair with ease. 

“You wouldn’t report your own boyfriend to HR, would you?” Future-Martin retorted cheekily, and the vision fizzled out slowly as Jon was hit with the familiar jolt of pain radiating through his temples. 

He came back to himself rather quickly, now that he was a little bit more used to it, and went through his usual grounding techniques, repeating to himself his location and the date quietly and slowly. He was in his office. It was July 29th. Tim and Martin were in the assistant’s room, and Sasha was out for lunch. There was no immediate danger. 

These visions were beginning to put a bit of a strain on his and Martin’s work-relationship. How was he supposed to give Martin an assignment when every time he saw the other man he could picture exactly what he looked like when kissed? How he would sound softly saying sweet things to Jon? Jon felt he had done an admirable job hiding any awkwardness he may have felt, but Martin was more observant than Jon had given him credit for. He had even asked Jon if something had happened, very kindly, which made Jon feel so guilty he redoubled his attempts at normalcy. This seemed to work effectively, and they continued to enjoy a comfortable friendship, regardless of Jon’s inner turmoil. 

So that led up to where Jon was now. He was slowly admitting to himself (and Georgie) that he may have feelings for Martin. Apparently his alternate self, future, self, whatever you wanted to call it- the other version of him had done an admirable job with the whole situation, but Jon was at a loss in how to follow in his footsteps. He was quite convinced his Martin wanted nothing to do with him romantically, whatever had happened in the alternate timeline, and contented himself with the knowledge that he had already changed quite a bit of those events in his own timeline. Jon’s own feelings would fade with time, and he and Martin would remain good friends. The whole thing would sort itself out. 

He was still busy convincing himself of this when he noticed the spider creeping up the wall nearby. Jon’s first instinct was to smash the thing, but he took pause. Martin rather liked the horrible creatures, and undoubtedly would chastise Jon for needlessly killing one of them. Better to just let him handle it. 

“Martin, I need you in here in a moment, please.” He called. There was a pause, and Tim poked his head into the room instead. 

“Martin’s busy, rummaging through some file box in the other room. What’s up, boss?” 

Jon gestured toward the spider. “I was just going to attempt to show this one some mercy. Pity, but if Martin’s busy, then...” 

Tim picked up a book and advanced toward the nearby spider menacingly. Jon made no attempt to stop him- if Tim was going to be the one to get close to the creature, that meant Jon could stay at a safe distance. He watched as he swung the book, aiming carefully.

As Tim tried to smash it with the book, the spider scuttled out of the way just in time. The shelves he had hit collapsed instead, sending a cascade of books and papers and knick-knacks to the ground, and the wall behind them looked crumpled, somehow.

“The fuck-” Tim jumped back, startled, and then leaned in to take a closer look. “Isn’t this supposed to be an exterior wall?” 

“Tim, get back. I really don’t think-” Jon stood up. Something about this was sending a thick feeling of dread pulsing through his veins. 

“Shit!” Tim shook his hand and a worm went flying off, hitting the wall with a splat.

“Tim, RUN!” Jon yelled, just as the worms began pouring in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are officially past the point i had an outline written out for, so updates might get to be a little slower until i figure out exactly what i want to do with this fic, since i kind of roped myself into writing plot? which i kept saying i wasn’t going to do? but this fic is already growing pretty long pretty rapidly and tbh if i let myself write without an outline i have no doubts it would spiral past the 100k word mark pretty quickly, so it’s prob best to plan ahead lol
> 
> in the meantime, here’s some future!jonmartin to tide you over. the arab woman mentioned is basira, idk how obvious that was!! the easiest way to make it clear i’m referring to her is to just say ‘a woman wearing a hijab’ but using that descriptor every time is boring imo and doesn’t let me paint a clearer image of what basira (in this fic) looks like. she doesn’t have a widely accepted fanon appearance besides most artists drawing her wearing a hijab and she doesn’t have even a hint at a canon appearance. podcasts make it really hard to introduce characters and have you guys know who they are if i can’t use their name for whatever reason lol 
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae !!!!! as always please shoot me an ask on there or comment your every opinion and thought on this fic so far, i am constantly in need of feedback and knowing people are reading this and liking it is a ton of motivation to write faster!


	15. nature is healing. the worms are returning to their natural diet, humans. we are the virus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing this fic but 90% of the writing time is me doing plot research bc the magnus archives has SO MANY moving parts and different characters each with their own agenda. it took from 6:15 am until 9:30 am to write this and only 30 or so minutes of it was actual time spent writing, the other three hours were to reread over 20 different episode transcripts to see if i missed anything about elias’s motivations during this, and i still couldn’t find anything useful goddammit. BUT HERE IS THE CHAPTER I HOPE U LIKE IT

“Do you hear their song?” Martin shuddered as he heard Prentiss’s voice faintly, pushing himself a little further into the corner of the safe room. He had been in the process of sliding another CO2 canister into one of the empty boxes in the cramped room he’d been staying in when Tim careened in and slammed the door behind him, frantically talking about getting split up from Jon and worms pouring into the institute. Martin had somewhat calmed him down from his blind panic. Now Tim paced back and forth on the other side, muttering to himself quietly.

“We need to get out. I know the fire suppression is CO2 now, and we know that works, but we can’t set it off until we’re sure Jon is out of the building. And us, I guess. And that Sasha hasn’t gotten back yet.”

“Yeah, I would agree with the ‘and us’ part.” Martin glanced around the room for the thousandth time to see if there was anything else that could help them. He cursed himself for not having snuck more CO2 canisters in every room of the Archives. Sometimes paranoia was useful! They only had the one canister between the two of them, the one Martin was currently clutching with sweaty palms, and they had no idea if it’d be enough to kill enough worms to get them outside without any worms getting the better of them.

“Video game logic says if we get Prentiss, maybe the minions would go down?” Tim mused. It seemed like he was mainly talking to himself at this point, and Martin picked at a stray thread on his jumper, quickly falling into his own thoughts. 

They had expected this, sure, but it didn’t make it actually happening any less terrifying. The thought of worms digging under his skin again, of him going through that same pain as he tried to dig parasites out from his own body… Martin rubbed the scar on his arm with his thumb. 

“Does Sasha know not to come back to the Institute?” He asked quietly, and Tim made a loud noise of frustration. 

“No service in here. She’ll probably be back any minute, and we can try and blast enough worms with this canister to get the three of us out, but I still have no idea where Jon is.”

“We aren’t leaving without Jon,” Martin said confidently. Tim laughed a bit.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, Martin. You don’t need to convince me to rescue your damsel in distress. What’s a male damsel, anyway?”

“Shut up.” Martin muttered the best comeback he had on short notice, and Tim sighed. 

“I wasn’t making fun of you, man, just. Trying to lighten the mood, I guess.” He sank to the floor besides Martin, apparently finally tired out by his restless pacing. Martin shrugged.

“I know. It just doesn’t seem like the time.”

“More like it doesn’t seem like the Tim.” There was silence for a moment where neither of them spoke. Martin looked over to see Tim eagerly looking for his reaction.

“Tim, a pun has to actually sound like the word you’re replacing.” He was less amused than he might have been in a different situation. Tim laughed to himself.

“It was funny, admit it.” 

“While I admire your ability to make jokes at a time like this, maybe we should focus on a way out of here,” Martin replied, and the room settled into a tense silence. They were both aware their options were rather limited at the moment.

  
  
  


Jon skidded out of his office, making a frantic dash for the staircase he knew led upstairs to the fire suppression system. It occurred to him for a brief moment that grabbing one of the fire extinguishers Martin had been not very sneakily hiding around the Archives may have been a better plan, but he had caught a glimpse of Tim diving into the safe room, and he knew there was at least one canister in there. That would hopefully be enough to get the two of them safely out of the building.

He almost collided with Sasha, too distracted by scanning the ground for nearby worms that might have already made their way in through a different entry point. Jon kept running, shouting over his shoulder at her to pull the fire alarm and get out. She must’ve heard, because as Jon reached the door leading upstairs, he could hear the alarm from the floors above, and he spared a moment of thought to be grateful he had people he could trust on his side, quickly distracted by reaching the end of the hallway and pulling on the door leading upstairs. 

It didn’t budge. Jon pulled desperately, cursing his skinny frame and lack of muscles and his height and old buildings and whatever was causing this blasted door to stick. 

It was locked. He had no choice but to try and make it back across where he had come from, to the other, little-used side staircase. It was cramped, dark, and only led up one floor before stopping, but the manual control for the fire alarm was one floor up. Jon was entirely assuming Sasha had managed to make it out of the building, along with Tim and Martin. He was assuming this up until the point he started hearing loud screaming echoing down the hallway.

There was no time to consciously make a decision. There were CO2 canisters close enough to the door leading to the assistant’s room that he could try and do what he could to help whoever was screaming, or he could try and make his way to the other door leading upstairs and to the fire suppression system. His instincts were entirely in charge.

They propelled him through the doorway toward the screaming. Jon had one conscious thought that kept playing through his mind on a hysterical loop- Elias would no doubt be disappointed. He shouldn’t keep up high hopes for a positive performance review.

  
  
  


Tim was entirely done with this fucking job he stuck with for some fucking stupid reason. This whole shitty situation was ridiculous. 

He and Martin had been in the safe room, and obviously they couldn’t stay there forever, so they made the decision to try and make a break for it. It had only been about five minutes since then, but Tim reckoned it had already proven itself a proper stupid idea, as he currently had worms burrowing into his skin. It wasn’t a fucking nice feeling. His head was going fuzzy from the considerable amount of not-oxygen he had breathed in, and he could feel the anger slipping away from him as he forgot how to think properly. 

He could hear loud screaming, and he really wished Martin would stop, because it was hurting his ears. He wanted to tell him to shut up, but when he went to open his mouth, he found out it was already open. Huh. He closed it. The screaming stopped.

There was a hiss and then loud swearing as the canister Martin was spraying the worms with ran out, and it fell to the ground with a metal clang. Tim could see Martin from his position on the ground, the other man’s face a bright red with exertion as he tried to drag Tim toward the door while simultaneously trying to reach for box nearby where a CO2 canister was probably hidden. Tim thought he himself probably looked like the damsel in distress now, not Jon, and went to tell Martin so. It didn’t work, probably because as he had gone to do so he had noticed the worms on his legs, and on his chest, and on his arms, all over again and chose to go back to unintelligible screaming instead. 

Someone else had come into the room. Tim made a great effort to lift his head up and see who it was, but that proved much too hard, and he kept screaming instead. His blood was getting onto his pants. That would probably be hard to scrub out later. 

There was a lot of shouting happening. Tim closed his eyes to make it less loud, but it didn’t seem to work very well, and he made a conscious effort to close his mouth again. The world grew a little quieter, and he noticed he felt almost like he was falling, a little bit, and it would be very easy to not catch himself. Tim didn’t catch himself. He fell into darkness. 

  
  
  


Martin shouted in surprise as Jon threw open the door, immediately making a beeline for a nearby box of files and pulling yet another canister out of it. Tim had gone limp in his grasp, and he assumed he had passed out from a combination of shock and excessive CO2 inhalation. 

He could feel as a couple worms he didn’t notice had attached themselves to his legs fell off and he stepped on them, taking satisfaction in the squelching. Jon had already started spraying the area around himself with a look of grim pleasure as the worms writhed on the floor and died.

“Where’s Sasha?” Jon yelled across the room to Martin. 

“Haven’t seen her. Where’s Prentiss?” Martin called back. He and Tim had caught a glimpse of her doing… something… to files while they were in the safe room, but had waited until she had left the room to attempt their break for safety. They hadn’t anticipated just how many worms she’d brought with her. 

Jon’s silence was enough to make Martin very worried. 

  
  
  


Sasha heard the screaming echoing behind her, but she was also very aware there were more important things to be doing. She had seen Jon dash into the archival assistant’s space as he presumably went to help, so she focused on pushing herself to run faster as she dashed to the door she had just come in from, twisting the knob frantically. 

It didn’t turn. It made no sense, she had come through it not two minutes before, but it was locked, and she swore loudly. At least the fire alarm had been pulled. The upper floors had probably already gotten out, and she hadn’t seen any worms on her way back from lunch down to the Archives. 

Sasha turned to head back down the hallway to the other door, hoping to attempt to break the glass window on it and climb through. This door was thicker and older, and completely solid, and she doubted she could kick it down if she tried. She made it about halfway before she saw Jane Prentiss coming out of the door leading deeper into the Archives.

Sasha heard herself scream before she could stop, and Jane’s head whipped toward her.

She made direct eye contact with the worm-infested holes that used to be Jane’s eye sockets, and ran towards Jon’s office blindly. The worms were growing so thick it was almost impossible to avoid being bit, but she was still relatively sure she was unscathed as she threw herself through the doorway and collided with someone heavily.

  
  
  


Jon managed to catch himself on the wall and not the worm-covered carpet as he was almost shoved entirely over, and was relieved for a moment to see Sasha, looking alive and well. He glanced at the nearby Polaroid on the wall, and the relief grew. Still her. Still real. 

“Sasha!” Martin showed his relief a lot more visibly, but paled at the fear on Sasha’s face.

“Prentiss is in the hallway. What do we do- is Tim- what happened?” Sasha glanced around for a weapon of some sort, and Martin pointed at the nearest hidden fire extinguisher. She grabbed it quickly, and there was no time to do much of anything before Jane Prentiss was in the doorway. 

The worms seemed even more frenzied by her presence. There was a cry of pain from Martin as some worms found their way to bits of exposed skin, and Jon winced as he fumbled desperately through his pockets. He didn’t have time to come up with anything new, any new solution or idea. He didn’t have time to have a helpful vision to save him. There had to be something. Something he’d forgotten-

His searching fingers wrapped around the solution. 

  
  


Sasha struggled to get as far away from the thing that had once been human in the doorway as possible. Her eyes darted wildly around the room. She had been loathe to die at the hands of the Stranger, yes, but that didn’t mean she wanted to find an even more horrific way to go, and becoming a flesh-hive or whatever definitely seemed like a horrific way to go, and this time it seemed like they were all doomed.

Her rambling thoughts were cut off by Martin’s yell as he fell backwards, and then screamed as a few surviving worms started to burrow their way into his shoulders and neck. Sasha saw Jon, frozen in fear and staring blankly at Prentiss. Martin’s cry had seemed to startle him into shock, as the situation caught up with him somewhat. There was something glinting in his hand. 

It was a lighter. Sasha felt an impossible hope in her chest. The fire system. Jon had raised enough of a fuss to get it switched over to CO2 not long ago, even with Elias’s grumbling. It might work. 

But Jon didn’t make a move. He was still frozen, shaking slightly, and Sasha was much too far away now to take the lighter from him. There wasn’t enough time. 

“Jon!” She screamed. He looked over at her, his eyes wide. “A source of ignition? In the Archives?” 

Sasha assumed it was the loud sudden screaming more than the actual sentence that startled him into action, but she was a little proud at her own cleverness, even if Jon didn’t recognize the source of her words. 

“Yes!” She could see Jon say to himself, still dazed for a moment, and then suddenly spring back into action. Sasha watched as a tiny flame appeared in his hand, and then a larger fire filled the small room with an overwhelming heat, and then there was screaming and screaming and Sasha’s brain decided it was done doing the hard thinking stuff and chose to take a nap instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry martin, better luck neckst time
> 
> ok. ok. full disclosure. i wrote almost all this chapter while stoned at 6 in the morning because i couldn’t sleep and at one point instead of writing i got so distracted by disney movies i just straight up started typing out the lyrics to a song from tangled. basically i am trying to say if there are plot holes, please comment and i’ll fix them, bc my brain is like swiss cheese rn, but i rly wanted to get this chapter posted so i can start working on FUN STUFF like basira’s first appearance and more melanie queen of my heart and mayhaps some progression on the jonmartin front 
> 
> also i really don’t understand what the institute layout looks like and doing the research on that would be more effort than i really want to put in to figure out something that i can just headcanon without (hopefully) too much confusion. in this fic, the archives are in the basement, and consist of the archives themselves. there’s a long hallway with a staircase on either side- the door leading to the assistant’s little shared space is in the middle, and the door to jon’s office is in that little cramped room with 3 desks and a table and a little kitchen-type area with a coffeepot and a fridge. the safe room door, where martin is sleeping, is also in that room. finding out more information to see if i have this right or not would involve a shit ton of time scouring the transcripts for layout clarification and i refuse to do that!


	16. you ever gently stroke someone's hand and tell them you'll take care of them while thinking about your fierce protectiveness for them but, like, in a straight way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok. i was going to apologize for going a couple days without updating, but i don’t even have an excuse, it’s just week 3 of me being alone nonstop in this tiny apartment and i lost track of time so badly i didn’t realize time had passed? like i thought i already updated today? but that was like two days ago? idk man all i know is there’s 46 days until i turn 20 and that’s where my priorities are at

It had been one month since Martin had seen any of the other Magnus Institute employees.

The aftermath of Prentiss’s attack had been confusing, and he had spent most of it unconscious, from what he had been told. The fire system went off in time to stop him from any permanent damage, but the worms had managed to burrow decently far into his neck when he had passed out from pain and CO2 inhalation before they had been removed. The result was weeks of being almost unable to move his head. It had been miserable, and the entire time, he’d been alone.

He was almost happy to go back to the Institute. He’d been assured that it had been returned to its normal state, all worm corpses removed, everything destroyed in the fire fixed, except some personal items that had been unavoidably lost. He doubted it would feel the same, after he had almost died in the room he was now expected to go right back to work in, but Martin had been achingly lonely all by himself in his flat for weeks. No one to talk to, barely anything to entertain him, and agonizing pain only slightly numbed by painkillers as the skin on his neck knit itself back together. He had scars that looked like large cigar burns dotted deep over his jawline and most of his neck, chest, and shoulders. They didn’t exactly boost his confidence, and he had spent the last month in a dizzying spiral between staring at himself in the mirror, hearing other people’s cruel words to describe his appearance throughout his life echoing through his mind, and laying on his bed, spending more time dwelling on those same words. Martin was used to physical insecurities, he had been bigger than his classmates his whole life (either because of height or the additional pounds Martin carried on his frame), but recently the voices that characterized a large part of his anxiety had become uncomfortably similar to his own. He tried to distract himself by thinking about his coworkers, now his friends, but this was another source of consternation. 

Martin was worried about Jon, Tim, and Sasha. They were all alive, he knew that much, but Tim had wounds worse than Martin’s own (though in less vulnerable areas), and he knew Sasha had a couple scars to match his, although apparently Jon had made it out without a single worm finding its way to his skin, thankfully. But they were all alive. Martin had to keep repeating this single fact to himself, over and over- they had all made it out okay. Physically, that is.

And now he was going to be seeing them again. Jon had insisted on going back to work almost immediately after the incident, which Martin was very cross about indeed. He intended on having strict words with Jon as soon as he saw him. Strict words and then perhaps some work-place appropriate platonic friendly words. Above-the-board stuff. Either way, the man had been working alone in the Archives for the past month, and Martin was eager to check on him. 

Sasha had coordinated her first day back with Martin’s own, and Tim had agreed to do the same, with a couple friendly jabs about how it felt a little elementary back-to-school. He could see Sasha in the distance as he approached the Institute, taking out his earbuds and placing them in his pocket as he got closer to her in anticipation. Martin was overcome with happiness at the first human touch he had felt in over a month as Sasha practically jumped into his arms when they were close enough, crushing him in a fierce hug. He ignored the pain in his neck as she did so, returning her hug with enthusiasm and twirling her in the air. 

“Martin! How are you! I always forget you’ve got hidden muscles!” Sasha beamed at him as he carefully put her down. She had pulled her worn mustard sweater on to protect against the late August chill that was starting to settle in, and she looked fully recovered from their shared ordeal a month before. It was a far cry from Martin’s own bedraggled hair and dark circles, fresh scars barely hidden under his thin scarf. 

“I’m doing good. How’re you?” Martin smiled at her in return, matching her pace as they started to head into the doors of the Institute and toward the stairs leading down. The place smelled of fresh paint and, faintly, of ash, and Martin tried not to shudder or react. Sasha made a face at the stink, waving a hand in front of her nose as the two headed down. 

“I’d be better if we weren’t apparently going to be working in a paint can. That had just been set on fire.” She scrunched up her face as they continued down the hallway, and Martin nodded in agreement. They both paused for a moment as they looked at the doorway leading to their shared assistant’s space and the door to Jon’s office. 

“Want me to say hi to him first? Or you want dibs?” Sasha asked, and Martin gave a small shrug.

“Either way’s fine with me! Don’t worry.” Martin sat at his desk. It had been almost wholly cleaned off, but thankfully all of the essentials remained. Sasha walked to her own desk, carefully pulled out a Polaroid, and began rummaging in a drawer, presumably for tape. Martin smiled again as he recognized his own handwriting in a tiny corner of the picture. Sasha always had her priorities in order. 

After she had replaced the picture, she gave Martin a small wave and a soft ‘wish me luck’ and knocked on the door to Jon’s office. There was a long pause, and then a muttered ‘come in’, and she pushed open the door and closed it behind her. He heard a loud noise of surprise, and then Martin could just make out Sasha talking hurriedly and loudly in a reprimanding tone, but couldn’t figure out the words. 

He spent the next few minutes pretending to do work, and then the half hour after that actually doing work. There was a lot to catch up on, after a month away, and his neck kept sending twinges of pain down his shoulders, making it slow going and hard to concentrate. That and the fact that Jon was less than fifteen feet away and he hadn’t seen him in a month and Jon had saved him, saved his life, and how were you supposed to thank someone for something like that? 

Martin continued half-pretending and half-actually focusing for another half an hour after that. Sasha was still in Jon’s office, but her volume had dropped, and it was even harder to attempt to figure out what she was saying. He was unused to Jon’s door being closed. He hoped sincerely Jon didn’t attempt to make it a habit again, as he had no doubts he would get roped into some sort of plan that Tim concocted and Sasha signed onto because she was either bored or in a Tim-indulging mood. Something involving pulling string tied onto the door handle, or something equally as childish but fun. Martin found himself smiling at the thought of resuming usual office antics, and hopefully pretending most of the horribleness didn’t happen. 

He was started out of his thoughts by Tim unexpectedly slinging an arm around his shoulder, a difficult feat since Martin was sitting down. He winced, a hand flying up to protect his still-recent injuries, and Tim stepped back immediately.

“Shit, Martin, sorry, forgot-” 

“Tim!” Martin stood up, and turned to hug the other man tightly, his neck quickly forgotten in his excitement. Tim’s face lit up, and he returned the hug eagerly but gently. 

“It’s good to see you, mate! What’ve you been up to!” Tim looked far worse off than Martin, but in a much better mood. He had been advised to spend more time away from the Institute, considering the extent of his injuries, and the worrying amount of time he had spent unconscious during and after the whole ordeal. 

“Surviving, I suppose, a-and recovering. Have you been alright?” Martin asked, sitting back in his chair. Tim laughed as he sat at his own desk.

“Oh, peachy. Crossing my fingers for minimum long-term brain damage from C02 poisoning, y’know?” Martin did not return Tim’s laugh. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to joke about all this yet, and Tim seemed to get the memo, adjusting his casual tone. 

“Really, though, I’ll be alright. I healed pretty fast, actually, which is why I’m back already, now that I’m out of quarantine. Barely gonna scar.” Tim tapped one particular mark, just below his eye, which was indeed much paler and harder to see than Martin’s own. 

“Lucky, I suppose. It’s good to see you.” Martin offered another small smile, and Tim returned it. He seemed to be putting in more effort than usual to operate on Martin’s level, which tended to be a lot more subdued than Tim’s own. Martin felt strangely comforted by this. 

He didn’t have much time to linger on his realization, as Sasha came back into the room and immediately practically threw herself onto Tim’s lap, sending both of them and the chair across the room and into the wall. Neither of them seemed to notice, focused on each other’s faces and nothing else. Martin was less bothered by this than he might have been otherwise. They hadn’t seen each other in a month, which was quite a long time to not see someone you cared about. 

He stood up and started to walk into Jon’s office.

Jon looked like shit.

“Jon! Are you okay?” Martin startled as he walked into Jon’s office, closing the door behind him quickly. Jon was an absolute wreck. His desk alone was littered with empty coffee cups and crumpled bottles of energy drink, which Martin was almost certain Jon had avoided like the plague previously. The dark circles under his eyes were so deep it looked like someone had punched him, once in each eye, and his hair was long, matted, and wild. 

“Yes, Martin, quite alright.” Jon refused to look up, pretending to focus his gaze on a notebook in front of him, which Martin could quite easily see from this angle. The notebook was blank. Martin was unimpressed. 

He took a few steps closer to Jon, and then stopped. From closer, it was even more apparent what a state Jon was in. His clothes had been very obviously unchanged for quite some time, his eyes were unfocused and fuzzy, and Martin was quite sure Jon hadn’t done anything to take care of himself in over a week. Possibly longer. 

Martin felt like someone had struck him. He had seen Jon in a state before, when he had gotten too focused on an idea and spent too much time without going back to his flat, but it had never been like this. No archival assistant had seen the Archivist in a month, and apparently that was enough time for the Archivist to entirely forget he was, in fact, human, and needed to be taken care of on occasion. 

Martin was certain between himself, Sasha, and Tim, they would make Jon remember. 

“Did you come in here just to stare at me, Martin?” Jon shot at him irritably, flipping the notebook over and glaring at him. Martin swallowed his words that in this state, it was a little like being growled at by a tiny bedraggled puppy, and grabbed the chair on the other side of Jon’s desk, pulling it around the desk and up next to Jon. Jon stared at him as he did so, but his eyes were still glazed slightly. It looked like he was dozing off every time he stopped concentrating for more than a millisecond. 

He didn’t even know what to say. It looked like Jon had given up on everything besides work, and stopped attempting any pretense of subtlety as he had done so. 

“Martin, really, I’m too busy for whatever nonsense-” 

“Jon, shut up, please,” Martin retorted, taking his seat in the chair now pulled up inches from Jon’s. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

Jon stopped in his tracks at Martin’s words, and Martin couldn’t help feeling a little thrill of self-satisfaction. He could be bold, when he wanted to! He could bark orders too, without as much as a please! 

“Martin, nothing is going on,” Jon started, and Martin’s incredulous laugh cut him off.

“Jon, honestly. I just heard Sasha lecturing you for an hour, because she cares about you and wants you to be healthy, and now I’m here to lecture you, because I care about you and want you to care about yourself, and if you keep this up Tim will be in here after me, lecturing you, because he cares about you and also he hates when you act like this.” 

Jon’s head shot up, and he looked offended. Martin couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“We all hate it! Let us help. We’re here, we’re back now, this should be a happy moment. I’m so glad to see you, Jon, even if it’s in this state. We all missed you.” Martin felt brave, in a way that he had found had grown in him over the past year or so. Like a plant he had cared for, and was now flowering. He felt less in his head, sometimes, like he was  _ doing  _ things more instead of thinking about them. 

“I. I missed you all as well.” Jon replied, quietly, and rubbed at his temple with his thumb for a moment. Martin waited for him to continue. “I have trouble, sometimes, remembering things. Things that other people seem to have no issue remembering.” He made a face at this, gesturing at the state of his office. “Like cleaning, or… sleeping, I suppose. Drinking water. Going home regularly. The like.” The look on his face was disdainful, almost, and it startled Martin somewhat. He took a moment before responding.

“Would it help if we- if Sasha and I, and Tim- would it help if we reminded you?” Martin asked, and felt that same bravery swell up inside him, and let it swell enough he only had about thirty seconds of wild panic as he reached out to grab hold of the hand Jon had let rest on the desk next to them. He clasped it between both of his own, and gently ran his thumb over Jon’s knuckles, relaxing somewhat at the human contact. 

Jon’s eyes were no longer glassy as he visibly flinched at the sudden movement. Martin released his hand instantly, moving back, but Jon looked even more distressed at this, knocking over an empty can on his desk in his haste to re-initiate the contact. 

“I think that might help,” Jon offered quietly when they were resettled, an unspoken agreement to ignore the hand-holding in favor of enjoying the simple comfort of it. A month or longer ago, Martin knew he would’ve been filled with overwhelming anxiety, beating himself up about how presumptuous this was, but now he was too distracted by the absolute state Jon was in. 

“Then I’ll let them know.” There was a moment where neither of them spoke, and Martin focused for a moment on the roughness of Jon’s skin where it touched his, how cold his hand was, and how thin the other man had become. Even before, Jon had been uncomfortably close to what could be referred to as ‘skin and bones’, and now he was just the bones part, his hands practically skeletal. Martin’s grip tightened protectively, out of instinct more than anything else. He was going to help, and he was going to do it right, and he was going to make sure Jon was taken care of, seemingly for the first time in the other man’s life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually rly liked writing this chapter pls tell me what you think!!! do you have a POV request for next chapter? are you enjoying reading this self-indulgent nonsense as much as i'm enjoying writing it? i love reading and rereading your guys' comments so much please reassure me someone besides me is reading this i will b overjoyed
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae come say hi <3


	17. buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can pinpoint the exact moment in this chapter where i go ‘ok that is enough angst i am soft’

Jon was well aware that none of this was healthy, technically, but that knowledge wasn’t quite enough to actually convince him to stop. 

He hadn’t replied to any of Georgie’s texts for over three weeks now. He couldn’t actually say why, if anyone had bothered to ask him. Jon knew his forgetfulness, he knew if he didn’t immediately respond to the text message it would slip his mind and it would be days before he sent anything in response, but he read the message and tossed his phone onto the desk without typing anyway. It was an invitation to some social event she had upcoming, and the only people that Jon cared to interact with were in quarantine or the hospital or Georgie herself. He didn’t want to say no, again, and have her send a sad face emoticon or whatever in return and send him into yet another fit of guilt, so his phone sat ignored on his desk, probably somewhere under a mess of papers under a running tape recorder. He’d probably say he had lost it, but that would imply some semblance of looking for it, which Jon certainly hadn’t done. He wasn’t texting anyone besides Georgie, that was for sure.

Guilt was his only companion, now. The Archives had been thoroughly cleaned the first few days after Prentiss’s attack, the only few days he’d actually bothered to listen to Elias telling him to stay at home at his flat, and all of his assistant’s personal belongings had been removed, leaving an empty room and only a few scattered reminders of their presence. Sasha had left several brightly colored sticky notes in a couple places to remind Jon to do a couple ordinary tasks, simple things like ‘remember email Elias about that dumb thing!’, but it wasn’t the contents of the notes as much as the sight of her handwriting and the doodles in multicolor highlighter that served to send painful jolts through Jon’s heart every time. It became a familiar feeling. There were seemingly constant reminders of his assistants. Tim’s bright red skateboarding shoes had almost fallen on his head the other day, tucked away in a high metal cabinet. He had found some of Martin’s notes on an old statement and spent several minutes staring at the familiar way Martin looped his Ys, and his careful and precise As, and how each letter was entirely separate, nothing like Jon’s own cramped and scrawled and frantic writing. 

He had never pictured himself in such a state where the sight of something as trivial as his coworker’s handwriting would upset him so much, but he had also never been in such a situation where he would recognize someone’s handwriting well enough to have any sentimentalities toward it. Jon had spent most of his life alone, and he told himself it had been by choice, but now that he had seen what it was like to have friends, he was loath to part with them. It wasn’t just the loneliness that hurt his heart, the overwhelming ache of how he missed his archival assistants, but the fierce guilt that consumed him every time Jane Prentiss crossed his mind.

Every time Jon looked in the mirror, he could see for a second his own face overlaid with those circular scars he had seen in his first vision, the one all those months back. His hair had certainly grown somewhat to match, as Jon hadn’t been all too on top of his haircut schedule, but he didn’t have a single scar. He had been left almost entirely unscathed by the ordeal, and yet his assistants all took weeks off to recover from their extensive wounds. And here he sat. No injuries, not even as much as a scar from a scratch he may have received falling over in his own panic.

Jon had seen Tim and Martin, before they had gotten the worms out of them. It had not been a pleasant sight. It had been the last time he had seen them, still, and he knew they and Sasha would return to the office soon, but that he couldn’t quite convince himself they would return healed and not like the swiss-cheese image he still had stuck behind his eyelids. 

No, he had not been eaten by worms, but the guilt that ate him instead was a different sort of pain. Had he used these miraculous glimpses of the future to save himself, and not the people he had grown to call friends? Was he really so selfish, as to let his assistants take the brunt of the damage for him? 

He had to make amends, obviously. So he threw himself into his work. It was the only way to distract his fevered mind, and reading statements almost always made him feel better. They relaxed him, in a way, showing him that yes he was making progress, solving the puzzle, getting closer to where he needed to be, fixing his own mistakes, proving only in his own head that he could be a good enough Archivist to deserve his assistants back. 

Jon had grown used to the echoing silence, the faint notion that time was passing but that it didn’t dictate any of his life anymore, and his established pattern of eating small meals once in a while, about every 12 hours, to keep him going. He had discovered energy drinks on week 2, after Elias had accidentally told a delivery person the wrong door to drop them off at and they had somehow ended up outside his office. He had been too preoccupied with the most recent statement he had been researching to question it much beyond being thankful he wouldn’t have to get up to make coffee for a while. This had only fueled his manic obsession with recording and researching as many statements as possible. 

He was quite sure he could go on like this as long as he needed to. Jon had even gotten as far as convincing himself that his assistants were fine to come back to work, and simply didn’t want to have to see him again. He had had weeks to stew in his self-dug pit of self-loathing and hatred, it was easy to tell himself anything and have his dazed mind believe it, so he knew that all three of them blamed Jon for their injuries, for the entire horrific event they just went through. Why wouldn’t they? He was the one with the powers, the one with the visions, the one literally in charge of the Archives. All of the responsibility was his, everything from Martin initially getting hurt and trapped to the events of July. Elias seemed to agree with Jon on this, as he seemed angry, shooting him irritated glances in the aftermath of the incident and implying several times it was no coincidence Jon had no injuries while his assistants had suffered many. His attitude toward Jon since then had been disdainful and dripping with barely concealed contempt. 

Elias had made a couple jabs about the Archives seeming understaffed, and perhaps he should hire Melanie as an assistant after all. At first, Jon ignored these comments. They confused him, to say the least, as he wasn’t sure exactly why he should consider it a threat, but Elias’s tone in their initial conversation about it made it clear Elias thought Jon would be extremely against Melanie being hired. After the second time he brought it up, Jon had snapped at him, and had been so sleep-deprived at the time his words were disjointed and jumbled. He couldn’t get his point across, and had grown so frustrated he had shouted at Elias. A week later, Elias had informed him in a pointed tone that Melanie had unfortunately turned down his job offer, but he was hoping she would reconsider. Jon decided to stick to his office entirely from then on, and it had been a week since then. Jon had not spoken to another human being in all of that time. 

So it was quite startling when he heard voices in the hallway, and even more so when Jon recognized them as those of Sasha and Martin. He froze. Thoughts were definitely attempting to race through his mind, but he was so tired and hungry that they were instead crawling at a slow pace. 

There was no time to fix any of his trashed office or disheveled appearance. It was time to face the music. 

His talks with Sasha and Martin went surprisingly well, and Jon was surprised to find over the following days the ache in his heart subsided somewhat.

Tim had helped him clean his office, hauling out more than a few garbage bags and replacing coffee cups with scented candles, accompanied with over dramatic winks. Jon surprised himself when he actually chuckled slightly at one of these when Tim whispered “a source of ignition?” as he set the candle down. Sasha had left more sticky notes, some of them with hearts doodled in every corner and messages in pink glitter pen to drink water, remember to eat soon, remember to get fresh air. Jon had wanted to feel indignant, a little, but couldn’t bring himself to as the notes proved to be helpful over and over again. 

Martin had helped him clean up his apartment. Jon hadn’t been home in weeks, and his flat felt like a different world, one that certainly didn’t belong to him, with his sparse personal items and stacks of papers from working from home. Martin hadn’t judged him, or thrown any harsh or even mildly criticizing words in his direction. He had simply smiled at Jon in his usual easy and kind manner before starting to fuss about and organize Jon’s meager possessions. Sasha had shown up later and made vague plans with the two of them about a run to the store to get Jon some actual decorations, which Jon protested, as he had quite nice decorations, in his opinion. This protestation was kindly ignored, and Jon conceded. Later still, Tim arrived, after most of the work had been done, and brought pizza as atonement. The four of them sat in a circle, Tim on an armchair and the others on cushions on the floor, and talked about things that weren’t worms or worm related or fire related. It was something that vaguely resembled a family dinner. 

Sasha and Martin had both stayed the night, after they had gotten into some wine Jon had for special occasions, Sasha on a sleeping bag and Martin on the couch, the TV providing low light and soft white noise. Jon had gotten up to get water, in the middle of the night, and almost walked straight into Martin, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and looking out the window.

Jon stopped in his tracks, taking a second just to look at him. Moonlight illuminated his freckled face, how his hair hung over his eyes slightly, and his shirt was low-cut and hanging off of his frame. It drooped low enough to expose his collarbone, where Jon could see worm marks standing out against his pale skin. 

He was stepping foreward before he was thinking about the movement, his hand coming up and his fingers lightly trailing over the healing mark. Martin had froze, having turned toward and noticed Jon, about to say a greeting or acknowledgement. 

His fingers remained for a moment before he shifted slightly, pressing his thumb to another mark, knowing it was healed enough not to hurt but still keeping his touch feather-light. Martin’s eyes met Jon’s. His mouth was agape slightly, seemingly stunned by confusion at the strange action. It wasn’t enough to shake Jon from his odd trance, and he traced his thumb lightly further along Martin’s collarbone to his shoulder before dropping his hand. There was a long beat of silence. 

“I’m sorry. The marks are my fault,” Jon spoke quietly, dropping his eyes to the floor and fighting the sudden blush that threatened to darken his cheeks. What was he doing? What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, that was for sure. It was best to go back to his room and ignore this had happened. 

Martin shook his head vehemently. “Jon, you know that isn’t true. Remember what Sasha said? About guilt? Unless you directly caused the action to happen, it most likely isn’t your fault,  _ especially  _ when everyone around you is confirming it wasn’t your fault. We aren’t expecting you to be- a, all-seeing, or something, you’re only human.” He stumbled over his words slightly in his haste to get them out. 

“I know, but- I should have been able to do more. I know I didn’t directly put them there but I still feel responsible, even though I know I couldn’t have- I don’t know, Martin. I’m just sorry.” Jon’s voice rose, and fell again as he remembered Sasha sound asleep on the couch. He attempted a whisper, and settled for a low mutter. “I managed to save Sasha, but now you wear the scars that should be mine. I saw them, in the first vision I had.” 

“I’m glad you don’t have scars. I’m not happy I have these, don’t get me wrong, but you didn’t cause them, and I didn’t take them for you. That isn’t how it works, it’s not some sort of choose your own adventure.” Martin spoke with a vehemence Jon hadn’t seen in him before. “Like a- a video game, or something? That’s ridiculous. Life just happens. You happen to get sneak peeks, I guess, and that just means you can try your best with them, but I don’t think that means you get to treat it like you can somehow control everything. You just have to do your best. If that makes sense.” He seemed to lose his passion halfway through, catching himself somewhat and beginning to look embarrassed. 

Jon nodded. “I. That makes sense. You’re right. Thank you.” There was another long moment of silence in what seemed to be characteristic of their conversations. Both of them always seemed to have too many thoughts in the way, only managing to sometimes overcome them for brief moments of action. Jon decided to use his thoughts to his advantage, for a change, and stepped forward to hug Martin. 

He had to step forward and lean up to reach him comfortably, which Jon refused to think of in his head as going onto his ‘tippy toes’. Martin immediately returned the hug, very gently putting his arms around Jon’s shoulders. Jon attempted to pat Martin’s back, couldn’t reach comfortably, and knocked the man’s shoulder on accident, then proceeded to almost trip as he stepped backwards and broke the contact. Everything about this was so terribly stereotypical, but he felt like he couldn’t help being clumsy when he was so overwhelmed by the human contact he hadn’t had in so long. Something about it coming from Martin in particular, too, made him so easily distracted he would trip over his own feet. 

Romantic feelings were possibly what he could label the situation as. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to analyze that particular possibility, and every time he thought about it, he heard Georgie’s voice, which made him feel that sick guilty feeling as he remembered her ignored texts. She was probably worried about him, at this point, it had been long enough, but the thought of picking up the phone to respond was daunting and he chose to send the thought away for the moment. 

Martin pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s cheek, and he short-circuited.

Martin was saying something. Jon was a little aware of it, and would think about the words in a second. Martin’s face had been warm next to his. Martin had leaned in and down and his touch had been soft and light, a precise moment of touch and then nothing. Martin had kissed his cheek, and the words he was saying were “goodnight, Jon”, and then Martin was walking away and Jon was looking at his bed suddenly and he was laying down and looking at his ceiling and then his thoughts slowed to a less dizzying whirl. 

He thought it might take him a long time to get to sleep, but he was sure to have sweet dreams indeed. 


	18. local mother georgie barker says no admiral access until you brush your teeth and text me back. the b plot is murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you guys want to know why this chapter took so FUCKING long to get posted??????? georgie barker is so hard to write. i don’t know why. i have no explanation. i think it’s because she has the least appearance in canon but i just can’t get her dialogue to work??? like every other character i literally do not think about anything until i’m editing i just write it in their voice and it works but o hmy god. georgie is impossible. it’s been days of working on this goddamn chapter and i still hate most of it. AND i wrote down word-for-word several tumblr posts abt georgie bc i knew it would help me write her and i didn’t want to lose them and then i lost the notebook i wrote it down in. i tried switching to a different WIP without georgie in it but guess what? i’m at exactly her point of introduction in the 3 different fics im working on. fuck it. i will stop venting in the author’s notes. here is the chapter
> 
> if you comment and say georgie is OOC i am going to permanently abandon this fic and i am NOT bluffing i will keep writing it anyway and never post it and it will be my own secret ending that u guys dont get to know.

Sasha strode into the center of the room, looked at each of them in turn, and planted her hands firmly on her hips.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with Elias, but I’m going to kill him,” she announced, looking quite firm in her decision. Martin wasn’t sure how to react. He didn’t think there was a proper reaction. He wasn’t sure what was going on. No one in the office was fond of Elias, but normally only Jon and Tim were vocal about it, and from what he had seen Elias was perfectly courteous toward Sasha. 

“I’m so on board, and I don’t need an explanation,” Tim offered from his spot at his desk, his eyes lit up at whatever had managed to get Sasha to swear that loudly and publicly. He was pitched at a weird angle, his chair spun around to face Sasha but his legs somehow still on his desk, and looked like he was about to fall at any moment.

“I’m- well, I’d like an explanation.” Martin added, and Sasha scoffed, slamming the stack of books she was carrying onto her desk and reaching into her desk drawer. He spotted a small smiley-face stress ball in her hand. 

“Have you two not noticed how he’s been treating Jon? I’ve never liked the man, but this is ridiculous! All those little jabs and such. I just walked past Elias’s office and he’s in there right now, being a right prat.”

“There’s no way he’s just in there yelling insults at Jon, what did you hear?” Tim seemed a bit less invested in the conversation now that there was less plotting to murder Elias than the first sentence had implied, but it was still preferential to work.

“It’s not even insults, really, it’s like… Okay. So Jon mentioned a personal day he might take off, and Elias immediately goes ‘For your thrilling social life? Really, Jon?’.” Sasha imitated Elias’s condescending tone as best she could, lifting her nose in the air as she repeated his words. Tim made a face, spinning his chair back around to his desk somewhat dismissively.

“That just sounds like normal Elias being a dick-”

“But it’s not!” Sasha was growing more passionate with every sentence. “It’s not just that, it’s all those little comments together, and it’s getting worse. I was always angry about how Elias and Jon treated Martin,” Martin felt slightly vindicated at this, “and now that Jon isn’t acting a prick it’s like Elias decided to choose a new target. You guys can’t tell me you haven’t noticed this.”

“Maybe he’s mad he doesn’t get invited to our worm tea parties,” Tim offered from across the room. 

“He does seem to get more upset the more he sees Jon with us.” Sasha tapped the pen she was holding against her lips as she took a break from her anger to think for a moment. Martin, at long last, found his chance to pipe in without getting talked over. 

“So we’re killing him, right?” He piped up from his desk in the corner, and Tim laughed.

“Oh, without a doubt, I just haven’t heard him say any shit to Jon. I hope he tries it around me, now.” 

“I hope he trips into traffic,” Sasha muttered, finally sinking into her own chair and looking less violently-inclined. “I just want him to stay away from the Archives.” 

“I’m thinking of a Home-Alone type situation, one where we booby-trap-” Tim began excitedly.

“Or we could just irritate him into not coming here anymore,” Martin offered, and Sasha pointed at him.

“Yes. Better plan. You know what, Tim’s plan also works, I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t plan on getting us all fired with this Home Alone type situation, and it doesn’t get anyone hurt.” She locked eyes with him for a second, and he saluted, looking very surprised to have actually received endorsement of his shenanigans.

Conversation halted as they heard footsteps in the hallway, and all three of them shushed each other at the exact same moment. Martin tensed, automatically. Things between him and Jon had been a little odd, as of late. There was a strange tension between them, ever since his rash actions at Jon’s flat. He would have been worried he had ruined the friendship entirely if it weren’t for the fact that the tension wasn’t necessarily a bad thing- it felt almost more like static electricity. Like a charge between them.

All three of the archival assistant’s faces had whipped towards the doorway, to see if Jon had overheard any of this conversation. It was not Jon standing there.

It was a woman Martin had never seen before. She looked upset, tapping her fingers on the edge of the doorway as she glanced around the room, clearly looking for someone.

“Is Jon here?” The woman asked, looking to Martin, as the closest to the door. 

“He’s busy right now, can I ask-”

“I’m a friend of his, is he here right now? In the building? I really need to talk to him.” Martin glanced at Tim for some sort of backup. He was, predictably, no help, simply shrugging at Martin and leaning back. Martin wasn’t quite sure what to say. To his knowledge, Jon’s friends were all already in the room. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that he’s busy with a meeting. He should be back soon, if you’d be okay with waiting?”

“Fine.” She pulled a nearby chair over to her and sat down, still fidgeting slightly. There was a pause, and Martin attempted to think of something else to say. 

“Hi. I’m Tim.” Tim leaned over with a hand outstretched, rolling his chair closer to her instead of standing up to close the distance. 

“Georgie Barker. Pleasure.” She replied, her attention obviously elsewhere. The room settled into an odd silence for a few minutes, as Martin realized he should’ve introduced himself, sent himself into a frenzy of wondering if it was too late to do so, and then reminding himself Sasha hadn’t done it right away, so it was probably fine. 

“I’m Martin, ah, Martin Blackwood.” He tried not to stutter, did so anyway, and was immediately mad about it. 

“Sasha James.” Sasha echoed him, looking at Georgie in an appraising sort of way. “Are you the one Jon’s texting all the time?”

“Not recently.” She snorted, pulling out her phone, and Martin quickly received the memo that Georgie was not in the mood to chat. 

What followed was twenty minutes of awkward silence and stilted conversation, with Georgie in a sort of odd mood somewhere between anger and hurt, from what Martin could tell. He had no idea what was going on, and honestly the fact that that was becoming a theme in his life did not bode well. Sasha heard the footsteps first, and tapped Martin just as Jon walked into view of the doorway.

“What the  _ hell _ , Jon!” Georgie was already rising to her feet as Jon stepped into the office, and then immediately turned to step back out, looking panicked. “It’s been a  _ month _ with  _ zero  _ warning. You can’t do that! You know you can’t just disappear for a month and expect people not to be freaked!” Martin watched in astonishment as despite the angry words still coming out of her mouth, Georgie hugged Jon as tightly as she was able to. 

“Georgie, I’m at  _ work _ -” Jon returned her hug, but seemed to be attempting to pull her away from the assistants and out of the room as he did so. She remained decisively in the same spot.

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to scare me that bad! I know texting is rough with you, Jon, but after fifteen missed calls and zero way to find out if you were okay besides showing up here, I don’t know what you expected. I texted you to tell you I was coming. Now if you’d actually read texts, their purpose is to convey information. Information like ‘oh hey Georgie, I’m not dead or in the hospital’.” Martin stole a look at Sasha, whose mouth was open. She turned to Martin and mouthed something excitedly- he thought it might have been among the lines of ‘text mystery is solved!’ 

“I’m sorry, Georgie, really, I meant to respond, and then I dropped my phone somewhere, and it-” Jon was interrupted by Georgie hugging him again, and then lightly slapping his shoulder.

“It’s fine, I know, just do not do that again. I was scared.” 

“You can’t even feel sc-” 

“Okay, yeah, but I understand the logical conclusions of ‘my friend unexpectedly will not respond to anything for a month with no explanation’, shut-”

“Would either of you like a cup of tea?” Martin asked, thinking it best to cut this off before whatever argument seemed to be brewing occurred. Jon smiled at him, and Martin absolutely did not hold his breath for a moment until he looked away, because that was something a middle-schooler would do, and he was above that. He was also above reading into how Georgie had definitely just said friend, not boyfriend, meaning Sasha had been right and Jon’s mystery text partner was not a romantic entanglement. 

He had only happened to notice the correlation, and then his mind moved on to other thoughts. That was all. 

“Yes, Martin, thank you,” Jon said, moving to take hold of Georgie’s arm and pull her towards his office. She shot him a look, but followed without protest. “I think it may be best to continue this in my office.” 

The instant the door shut behind him, all three assistants turned to each other and began furiously whispering. There was a lot to discuss, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i KNOW it’s unrealistic as hell for georgie to chew jon out in front of his coworkers, but it was rly fun to write so i’m just gonna post it instead of rewriting it. we’ve reached the 37K word point, if you’re still here reading i’m going to assume you’re okay with me ignoring that she probably could’ve just called the institute and asked to talk to him, it’s a gratuitous time travel fanfic i can do what i want. 
> 
> the chaotic vibes this chapter compared to every other chapter are at like a 90 and i am only vaguely apologetic. but next chapter the love of my life appears (basira...) so i really just wanted to get this out of my fuckin drafts u know
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae if you want the author's notes times 100x come b my friend!


	19. elias really said *bebe zahara benet voice* ‘i don’t need to read martin. life already has’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> switched from writing the ‘archival assistants secretly adopt a cat that lives in the archives’ oneshot au i’m working on to finish/post this chapter bc i love two commenters SO much and they’re bringing me joy in this time of quarantine monotony- thisnightrevels bc they left so many comments and it made my heart SO happy so this chapter is for u ty for being so sweet, and IWishIHadATurtle because i am going to print your comment out and frame it !!!!!! also i adore u and u deserve as many chapters as possible! i love that something i’m writing (bc i will go insane if i have nothing to work on and not rly any other reason lmao) is enjoyable to people besides me lol, this is only the second time i’ve posted my own writing anywhere like ever cause i had kinda lost confidence in it and this fic is making me regret years of wasted time i could’ve spent WRITING it's fun anyway here’s the chapter hope u like angst >:)

Jon knew exactly the moment Basira was supposed to walk into the Archives to give her statement. The problem was that that didn’t help very much.

On September 19th, he cleared his desk, organized his office, and told his assistants there would be an important statement. Then he told them everything else, because Tim was making it very clear he was no longer going to get away with vague dismissals of their questions. Sasha’s advice was to act normally, as it seemed he had done well the first time around, and he and Basira were on good terms in the other timeline or universe or whatever from what he had seen, and Jon tried to remind himself he had done quite well when Melanie had come around. This, hopefully, would be similar.

The problem was that, for what felt like the first time in quite a while, Jon didn’t know much about what was ahead. He knew that Elias had killed Gertrude, and he had seen a hazy flash of her body, but no one had found her in this timeline, so Basira might not even arrive on this date. She might show up weeks later to give her statement, or not come at all, and Jon had grown used to a general lack of uncertainty when it came to major events at the Archives. This was worrisome and he found himself pacing nervously, wondering if he was working himself up over a meeting that wouldn’t come, in a tense and frantic sort of mood, leaving his assistants to their own devices outside his closed office door. 

It had taken a total of three days for Elias to get thoroughly fed up with the archival assistants and their protectiveness of their Archivist.

First it had been Martin spilling coffee all over Elias’s white shirt when Elias had come to the Archives, looking down his nose at the assistants, and having come seemingly only to make another jab at Jon. The time after that, Elias had gone as far as implying Jon was responsible for Tim’s scars, as if he could’ve taken them for Tim if only he had tried harder. One look at Jon’s face crumpling after Elias’s words meant all bets were off, and any and all pranks increased ten-fold.

Sasha had left Martin and Tim to their own devices, but after that particular incident she had joined in, filling Elias’s email with spam and other petty annoyances, enough to irritate him, but hopefully not so many as to cause any actual danger to her job. She was good enough that it was unlikely he could figure out it was her just through the internet, but he had common sense, and if two out of three archival assistants were going out of their way to bother him, he was going to figure out number three was involved too. 

Martin had started embracing his ‘incompetent’ side, putting work on Elias’s desk filled with errors and shoddy researching, and over-acting his clumsiness. It wasn’t unusual for him to spot Elias in the hallway and immediately start looking around for something full of liquid to ‘trip’ with nearby. What a shame, he had ruined another of Elias’s shirts, what a tragedy… They had realized quickly that for some reason, Elias seemed loathe to fire any of them for whatever reason, and took full advantage of this hesitation, while still holding onto some small caution of going too far.

Elias had requested so much extra work from Martin that he was almost certain it was deliberate, and the paranoid part of him was sure it was to separate him from the other Archives staff. He had told Martin with a smirk that if Martin couldn’t get the work done, he was welcome to work somewhere other than that cramped room he was stuck in now, as it must be distracting to have so much nonsense going on. Unless, of course, he was reluctant to part with his Archivist. 

Martin had accepted the work, of course, there wasn’t much else he could do, but he completed it while surrounded by Tim’s laugh and Sasha’s enthusiasm, taking comfort in the low sound of Jon’s voice reading a statement from the other room. He wasn’t sure why Elias seemed so intent on his staff being as miserable as possible, but he seemed to take any sign of happiness from them as a personal offense, like they were attempting to rub it in his face or something. 

They knew he had killed Gertrude, Jon had told them as much, but without actual proof and with little information as to why or how, Martin was a bit skeptical. Not that Jon had seen it, he believed that, but that it had happened in this timeline- it seemed a lot of the events had varied, and he wasn’t sure if he took a dream vision as solid evidence of a murder. Elias was a prick, sure, he hated the man, but he didn’t think his boss was going to start killing any of them, he hardly seemed capable. 

Martin supposed he could have quit, when Elias started dumping an unreasonable workload on him, but he had grown to be genuinely excited to come to work. He worked with his friends, for the first time, and he couldn’t imagine giving that up to start all over again at another job. There was no guarantee they would remain his friends, if not out of the push of being forced to see him every day, and Martin didn’t want to take that risk. 

When Elias asked to see him in his office as soon as possible, Martin was pretty sure he was going to be fired. Sasha had shot him a somewhat horrified look, and he had shrugged her off, simply taking a minute to ready himself and then starting the long walk upstairs. It was his own fault, honestly, they had all been acting like they were invincible just because no one had been fired yet. His thoughts were already thick and heavy with the thought of attempting to find a new job, what he was going to do about money, all panicked and disjointed and jumping from thought to thought with disorienting speed. He was vaguely aware he might be on the brink of a minor anxiety attack, but felt like that took a backseat until he was done with being fired. Martin doubted he would receive much sympathy from Elias, even if he was visibly gasping for breath, The man was more likely to say “I’ll wait” like a condescending school teacher than help. 

“Martin. Take a seat.” Elias directed as Martin stepped into his office, and he did as he was told, his leg bouncing where he sat, and unable to stop fiddling with his fingers. “I trust your day is going well?”   
“Sure.” Martin made a valiant effort to regain his composure, taking a deep breath. The office was chilly, the A/C cranked up, and it did nothing to stop his nervous shaking. 

Elias looked unimpressed at his less than eloquent response, leaning back in his chair and simply looking at Martin for a moment. It felt like someone was flipping through his head like the pages of a book. Martin felt uncomfortably seen, and he was not a fan.

“Did you ask me here for a reason, Elias?” He asked pointedly. A slow smile appeared slowly on Elias’s face, to Martin’s confusion and growing dread.

“Hm. It appears someone has grown somewhat of a backbone. Congratulations, Martin.” Martin bristled at the backhanded compliment, feeling the irritation stirring in him and letting it feed his words. He was no longer unable to stand up for himself, and if Elias couldn’t see that, he would make him see.

Just as Martin opened his mouth to retort, Elias continued. “Certainly took you long enough, and it’s been rather inconvenient, but so admirable, I’m sure. Hasn’t stopped our Archivist from having to drop everything to go rescue you, but that must be a rather romantic notion for you, hm?”

“Shut the f-”

“I’m not finished, Martin. I’d prefer if you weren’t impolite.” Elias’s eyes flashed with anger, and Martin found himself closing his mouth before he intended to. “Your incompetence has reached new heights, and I find myself concerned that you don’t seem to be attempting to rectify the issue. Why is that?”

“Are you going to fire me, or are you going to continue to make jabs at my personal life?” Martin stood up. He had spent years letting anger boil in him, then abruptly turning off the heat. He felt like the pot may be boiling over at long last. 

“I don’t think I need to make jabs at your personal life, Martin, I think it does quite well at illustrating itself without my help. I do, however, need you to do your job, and I need you to do it well, or you will face consequences.” He steepled his hands on his desk, making steady eye contact with Martin, who snorted.

“Yeah. Sure. Consequences. Alright, lay them on me. These terrifying consequences.” He glared at Elias, growing more confident as it seemed Elias was more interested in mocking him than him actually losing his job. Elias sighed, deeply.

“I consider myself quite a merciful person, Martin,” Elias continued, a note of humor in his voice, “but I do find my patience growing thin. Am I the only authority figure you’ve stood up to thus far? Quite an adrenaline rush, hm? Pity you could never really stand up to the one authority figure who mattered. Your mother.” 

“Shut up.” Martin retorted, standing up. This was too much. He didn’t know how Elias knew about his feelings towards his mother, or what he was on about, but he didn’t have to sit through it, and if he wasn’t going to be fired he really didn’t care what else Elias had to say. He wasn’t sure why Elias apparently refused to get rid of the assistants if he hated them so much, but as long as the paychecks kept coming and Elias mainly stayed out of the Archives he could put up with it. He needed to stay near Jon, he needed to help, he was too far deep in this mess to leave Tim and Sasha to try and help Jon handle it. 

“She’s always been… difficult, hasn’t she. You take care of her for years, feed her, clean up after her, and even now,  _ she’s  _ the one who asked to be moved into a home.” Elias smiled as he spoke, looking for all the world like they were just having a casual chat. “To have it left to the nurses. She’s the one who refuses your visits.”

Martin sank back into the chair as his legs collapsed from under him, no longer able to breathe, tears beginning to drip off his cheeks as Elias continued. 

  
  


“Hi, Sasha said you’re the Archivist?”

Jon startled at the voice behind him, turning quickly enough he knocked some papers off of his desk. He hadn’t even heard the door open, but Basira Hussain stood in the doorway, looking mildly amused at his reaction. He nodded.

“Yes. Jonathon Sims, pleasure to meet you,” Jon said, holding out his hand and suppressing a wince as Basira’s handshake threatened to crush his fingers. She glanced around his office as she sat down, taking in every detail, and he paused a moment, trying to decide how to start. Jon supposed the statement was the most important bit, and the rest could wait until after. 

“We can begin when you’re ready, Basira.” 

“Sure.” She gave him a long, appraising look, and Jon felt uncomfortably analyzed. He reached out to click on the tape recorder sitting on his desk. He absent-mindedly pinched his nose for a moment, hoping he didn’t have an actual migraine coming on. Something about meeting people he had seen in visions felt uncomfortably like seeing double, and it threw him off momentarily, so much so he failed to note that Basira had not introduced herself.

“I really shouldn’t be talking about it on tape,” she said, glancing at it, and Jon resigned himself for an hour or so of persistent deja-vu.

Basira had given her statement, and in return Jon had told her everything he could about why it happened and what powers were behind it, about the Desolation, the Stranger, and anything he could think of that would help her in her work.

The thing about Basira was her uncanny ability to appear completely unfazed. Although Jon knew this much information at once was honestly quite terrifying, no doubt a large shock to the system, Basira instead seemed like she was merely filling in gaps to what she already knew. She wanted to learn as much as possible, asking questions, absorbed in Jon’s words, and even making the occasional macabre joke.

Jon found himself already liking the woman, the way he could almost see her mentally taking notes as he spoke and her dry humor. He thought for a moment with a hint of amusement that his alternate self had excellent taste in teammates, from what he had seen. Despite his budding warmth toward her, he stayed far clear of the whole ‘visions’ business. There was quite a difference between someone confirming the existence of things you had already seen and claiming to be able to tell the future. 

“So when a person is replaced, photos change as well. What about sketches, or artwork? Portraits and the like? Surely those don’t count as digital.” Basira’s brow was furrowed as she bent over a notebook, writing simultaneously while speaking. Jon was suitably impressed.

“I- I’m not sure, actually. Polaroids don’t change, we know that much.” Basira nodded, making a note, and looked up to meet his eyes.

“Thank you, Jon. Really. All of this- it’ll save lives, on the force. Information is crucial in this line of work, especially when you’re sectioned, and when most everyone refuses to talk about it, it’s not exactly easy to fact-check.” Her earrings jangled as she tucked a pencil behind her ear, sitting up and closing her notebook.

Jon reached into his desk drawer, moving the picture of himself and Martin to grab a business card and hand it to Basira. As his eyes fell on the picture, he paused for a moment, and he  _ knew _ . 

“Basira- I apologize, but there’s something I urgently have to take care of. Would you mind waiting a moment? I believe if you ask Sasha about the novels she’s interested in, you’d find the time passes quickly.” Jon said, in a rush, and hurried out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more basira next chapter she was supposed to be this whole chapter but i got carried away with the elias stuff and the chapter got long rip and i wanted to get this posted so i can go finish my cat au lol 
> 
> ok from here on out we’re gonna start deviating more and more from canon bc i just realized that during the worm attack i forgot i was gonna have someone get separated and end up in the tunnels, so no one ever found gertrude’s body, and i can’t think of a reason anyone would really go down there, especially because they didn’t find the trap door yet, and the wall in jon’s office has been fixed, so i think as far as jon would know there’s no way down. but it actually works out rly well bc i can have basira not be suspicious jon is a murderer !! that probably makes it easier to build a friendship! win-win
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae come say hi!!! i also have two other magnus archives fics go read them maybeeeeee


	20. a crumb of jonmartin? could i have a crumb of jonmartin perhaps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates might be slow for a little bit? my friend is visiting me for a few days (we’re being VERY CAREFUL don’t worry, i just couldn’t take being alone much longer) plus it's one of my D&D kids’ birthdays and i’m writing up a ‘how to play D&D with kids at home’ guide since a bunch of parents from work keep asking me, along with a mini campaign his moms can play through with him as a bday present for him! i’m only telling you guys this because its FUCKING adorable and i miss my job a lot. there is no feeling like 10 nine year olds screaming at you because the big boss took a health potion after they had almost defeated him. gotta teach them the hard life lessons now that the pokemon games aren't as big for them, that’s where i learned that life is cruel lol anyway HERES THE CHAPTER

Martin could  _ feel _ his mother’s hatred towards him.

It hadn’t started out as hatred, just resentment, but as Martin saw himself through his mother’s eyes he couldn’t even blame her. He was a living reminder of everything she hated about her life, everything she felt she had done wrong and everything she felt had been done to her. The consolation that it wasn’t anything he specifically had done wasn’t much. The actual blame never really seemed to matter much when it came down to it. 

He was vaguely aware Elias had stopped speaking, and seemed to be waiting for him to leave. Martin attempted to get to his feet, but a wave of dizziness overtook him, and he clutched the chair, trying his best to keep the contents of his stomach down. He could see himself, as his mother saw him, weak and pathetic. He could almost hear her words: see what happens, when you try to stand up for yourself?

The door next to him was opening, and it was disorienting enough he had to stop trying to focus to once again try not to vomit. He took a deep breath, waiting for the room to steady. Someone was yelling, really angrily, and he tried to listen. It was Jon.

Martin reached out, grabbing a hold of Jon’s arm, and tried to steady himself, and the yelling stopped. Jon’s face was suddenly close to his, his eyes looking- panicked? concerned? some frantic emotion- and there were hands on his shoulders, steadying him, and he could breathe again. He was faintly aware that he was crying. 

“So… I’m Sasha.” Sasha offered, twirling a pen in her fingers. 

“Basira Hussain. Nice to meet you.” Basira shook her hand, and the two settled once again into silence.

“Um, how are you?” Sasha tried again, glancing at Tim, who shrugged at her and then began making faces from behind Basira’s head. She looked away from Tim.

“Fine. And you?” She was not going to sigh. She was not going to sigh. Sasha just wanted to start a conversation or something, damn it, apparently her alternate self had never gotten to meet Basira and she had thought it had sounded like she would’ve quite liked her. That is, if she could find something they could talk about. 

“I’m fine- actually just finished a book I’ve been reading ages.” She offered, having just about given up when at long last, Basira’s eyes lit up and she leaned forward. 

“Yeah? What’s it called?”    
“House of Leaves, it’s an esoteric horror novel about-”

“I’ve read that, it was quite good. What did you think about the minotaur section, do you agree it’s a metaphor for-”

It was Tim’s turn to try not to sigh. There were two of them. 

  
  
  


“-wouldn’t have happened if you could keep your staff under control,  _ Archivist _ . He will recover and the image will leave him. However, if any of your staff put less than exemplary work on my desk again, I will make sure he sees it  _ every time he closes his eyes _ .” Elias leaned forward, making eye contact with Jon, who scoffed, gently pushing Martin behind him and stepping forward. 

“If you ever come near any of my assistants again. I  _ will _ kill you.” He looked like he was going to continue, but another choked sob from Martin immediately took priority. Jon shot one last look of rage at Elias and turned to pull Martin out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

“Martin- Martin, can you hear me? It’s me, it’s Jon.” He pulled Martin quickly down the hallway, wanting to get him into the Archives and as far from Elias as he could, but had to slow his pace as it was quickly apparent Martin was in no state to rush. He was visibly attempting to choke down his sobs, and Jon paused for a moment, letting go of Martin’s sleeve, and grabbed the other man’s hand.

Martin immediately squeezed it tightly, tears still streaming down his face. “I can’t- I can’t stop, Jon, I can’t stop crying-” 

“It’s alright, Martin, let’s- let’s get you downstairs-” He tugged Martin along, as gently but as quickly as he could, and the contact seemed to bring Martin somewhat back to coherency. His pace quickened, and his grip on Jon’s hand grew stronger, but as they reached the staircase leading down the sense of urgency began to leave him somewhat, and halfway down he had to stop to gasp for air as whatever Elias had shown him seemed to hit him all over again.

Jon froze, panicked, and stared for a second as Martin seemed to be hyperventilating. He looked around wildly, trying desperately to think of something to do, and remembered vaguely what Martin had done for him, all that time ago when Tim had pulled that idiotic prank. 

“Martin- breathe- one. two. three. four.” He counted steadily as he could, his voice cracking slightly as panic rose in him- it wasn’t working, Martin couldn’t breathe, he was failing, this was his fault- and right as he was about to give up and start yelling for the other assistants to come help, he noticed Martin was hanging onto his words, tapping his hand on his arm to the rhythm of Jon’s counting. Jon reached out, beginning to punctuate each number with a light tap on Martin’s arm, and his breathing began to steady. “Breathe in, Martin- one. two. three. f-”

“Okay. Okay.” Martin sank to the floor slowly, leaning his body weight against the wall and letting go of Jon’s hand. Jon followed his lead, sitting facing him, and as soon he was close enough Martin reached out to take Jon’s hand again. Jon shifted, moving so he was besides Martin, and Martin immediately leaned most of his weight into Jon’s side.

Jon tried his best not to freeze or pull away, not quite sure what he was supposed to do next. Put his arm around Martin? Was that too much? Should he ask Martin to talk about his feelings?

He settled for gently patting Martin’s shoulder with his free hand, and Martin, to his surprise, let out a tiny laugh. 

“I can almost hear the ‘there, there’.” He said quietly, and there was a long pause. Jon tried his best not to flush with embarrassment. He wasn’t often the one people went to for comfort. 

“Do you want to. Talk?” Jon offered, his voice unsteady, and he could feel Martin shrug from where he was pressed against Jon’s shoulder. Glancing at Martin’s face, he could see tears were still streaming down his cheeks, even as he came back to himself somewhat. 

“Elias showed me what my mother thinks of me.” Jon waited for him to elaborate, and he didn’t. He noticed Martin’s fingers once again tapping a slow rhythm on his arm, and he waited for Martin to find his breathing again. For a long moment, no one spoke.

“She isn’t- she isn’t  _ fond _ -” his voice broke, and Jon carefully put an arm around Martin, finding enough courage to rub his shoulder lightly. Martin attempted to find his composure again. “She isn’t exactly fond of me.”

“You don’t have to tell me-”

“I should.” Martin paused for another moment. “You’ve told us all your business, I suppose, visions and all that.” He made a decent effort to wipe his face with his sleeve, drying it for a moment before the break in the clouds passed and tears began dripping off his jaw again. Jon pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket, reaching out to wipe Martin’s face gently, and Martin snorted, once again surprising Jon with a small choked smile. “Such an old man, honestly.” 

Jon made a face at him, tentatively returning his smile, and tucked the cloth back into his pocket. Yet another silence filled the air before Jon broke it.

“If. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.” He offered, and Martin gave him yet another quiet smile. Jon found himself thinking he wanted nothing more than to just keep that smile there. 

“Can you  _ please _ stop being nerds so loudly,” Tim begged, clapping his hands over his ears, and both Sasha and Basira sent him twin glares. Sasha’s was much more fond than Basira’s. 

“I apologize if it’s hard for you to hear about reading, Tim, what with your own illiteracy and all, but some of us are intellectuals,” Sasha said snottily, and he snorted, tossing a pencil at her. Basira caught it before it hit Sasha’s forehead, and Tim made a face at her. She smiled sweetly back. 

“What is Jon doing, anyway, it’s been ages!” He complained, kicking his feet up onto his desk. 

“I’m more worried about Martin, honestly, I wonder what Elias wants.” Sasha bit her lip, and Basira looked between the two, interested. 

“Not that I’m a gossip, but if I’m going to have to wait for Jon longer than this, I wouldn’t mind being filled in,” she offered, raising an eyebrow, and Tim laughed.

“Not a gossip, but I want to hear the gossip?”

“I don’t gossip. I have the mind of an investigator,” Basira said matter of factly, and Sasha grinned at her. Jon had told them everything he knew about Basira, they knew she was trustworthy, and she felt it best to check that Jon had indeed filled her in like he’d promised he would. None of this ‘ignorance is bliss’ nonsense was going to fly anymore. 

“Well. Tell us how much Jon told you, and we’ll tell you everything else.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Martin trailed off, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “You always- that’s the thing, you know? You always tell yourself there’ll be some big reveal. Like in TV, you know, the parent always secretly loves the kid, tough love and all that. Even now I guess I thought it was still coming. Some big grand confession, that she’s sorry, that she wants me to be happy, and-” he felt tears welling back up again, and scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes angrily. He should be used to this by now, all the little ways growing up without caring parents hurt him, but he was still yanking out leftover splinters after all these years. And Elias had just driven a stake into his heart.

“I understand,” Jon said quietly, and squeezed Martin’s shoulder, where his hand still rested. Martin let his head drop, slowly, to land on Jon’s shoulder. He waited tentatively for a reaction.

Jon’s hand came up to rest in his hair. He glanced up, but Jon’s eyes were fixed on a part of the wall, and he looked to be deep in thought. Martin remained frozen, and Jon began to lightly stroke his fingers through his hair.

“Martin-” Jon seemed to be struggling immensely for the words, and Martin couldn’t help a fond smile. Now that he had gotten all of his thoughts out, they seemed to be bouncing around in his head less. It was like he had purged so many of his fears simply by sharing them, and having them being proven wrong. Jon obviously didn’t hate him, didn’t think less of him, and that alone was enough of a shock that Martin felt like he could breathe again. 

“You know that- she was wrong, right?” He asked, in a more earnest tone than Martin felt like he had ever heard the other man use. There was a pause that lasted too long for Jon’s comfort, apparently, and he twisted to face Martin, grabbing both of his hands in his own. Martin suppressed the urge to put Jon’s hand back in his hair.

“Yes, Jon, of course,” Martin said, much too quickly, and Jon shook his head.

“You are the furthest thing from weak, Martin. Or pathetic, for that matter. You’re a good and brave man, and I’m proud to know you.” His eyes were sincere and piercing as they searched Martin’s own, and Martin gave a sharp nod, feeling tears start to prick at his eyes again. Jon squeezed his hands, tightly, and swiveled to let Martin once again drop his head onto Jon’s shoulder. His hand found its way back into Martin’s hair and Martin instantly relaxed, wanting nothing more than to push his entire face into Jon’s neck and just hide there for a while. It seemed any semblance of a professional work relationship between them was being thrown out the window anyway, he might as well push his luck, but Jon had already done more than enough for him. He couldn’t ruin whatever this was growing between them, by- overwatering it, or something, he had lost his metaphor, he couldn’t focus with the feeling of Jon’s thin fingers on his forehead, pushing the curls away from his eyes. 

“So you’re attempting to convince me Jon can see the future.” Basira made eye contact first with Tim, then with Sasha, and leaned back in her chair appraisingly. She seemed impressively unimpressed.

“Is it attempting to convince you if we’re just telling you the truth?” Tim asked, his tone surprisingly serious, and Sasha glanced at him. He was bent forward, his eyes sharp, and she wondered if the idea of someone else being kept in the dark was what was motivating him to be firm about this, of all things. 

“Fair point, I suppose, it’s not like a load of other things about this aren’t way weirder.” She sighed, closing her eyes for a long moment before opening them again. “Can there be one thing that isn’t real? Fairies, or something? Mind control?”

“Well-” Sasha started, and then thought better of it. Maybe they should elaborate on Jon’s powers a different time. 

“And I’m wrapped up in all this nonsense? In the alternate timeline, or whatever?” She asked again, and Tim nodded again. Basira sighed again. This was all starting to grow rather repetitive. “Well. I suppose I already was, to some extent.”

“I think- I think all of us have been for a while. I don’t think it started just by coming to the Archives,” Tim said, drumming his fingers on the desk next to him as he thought. “Think about it- all of us had at least one weird experience before we even heard about this place.”

“If you’re trying to convince me destiny is a thing, you’ve lost me.” Basira offered dryly, and Tim shook his head. 

“Not that, just that- we know that these things are sentient to some extent. I think we got- chosen. A long time ago.” Sasha nodded along with his words, thinking back. Basira seemed to agree as well.

“It seems I have a lot to ask Jon.” She glanced again at the door, but he was still nowhere to be found.

“Where is he, anyway?” Tim asked, and Sasha shrugged, chewing on her lip. Tim pointed at her, shaking his head. “Hey. Don’t worry. If there’s one thing we’ve all learned recently, it’s that Jon is good at avoiding worms, so hopefully that applies to Elias.”

“I’m more worried about Martin! What if Elias fires him or something?”   
“Who would make tea?” Tim attempted a joke, but upon seeing the look on Sasha’s face, quickly thought better of it. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll walk through that door any moment now, Elias probably just gave him a glowing performance review. Or just dumped more extra work on him or something, worst case scenario.”

“I guess you’re right.” Sasha let herself have one last glance at the door, and then turned back to Basira. “So that book about existentialism you were talking about…”

Tim groaned. Loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still can't decide if i like this chapter or not, but i found my new fave band while writing it so it's officially lucky
> 
> how i write martin’s anxiety and relationship with his mom is heavily taken from my own experiences, so basically the entire chapter is just describing a panic attack i’ve had but like. it’s his now. anyway shoutout to my lovely friends for always knowing when i need someone to count to four for me, real friendship is when they know your panic attack coping mechanisms lmao
> 
> honestly lmk if you think basira is out of character she’s hard to write for me so i’m worried i’m writing an oc with her name on it instead of doing the character justice if that makes sense? so i really want honest feedback!!


	21. wikihow do i get my friends to stop waxing poetic about eachother every fucking five seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to me remembering that this is fanfiction and i’m allowed to write whatever i think is fun to write even if it might be unrealistic. so here’s a whole chapter of mutual pining with bonus basira getting roped into the group whether she likes it or not for the point of comedy and because i love her lol
> 
> so here is gay excerpts of a time skip of a few weeks

“His hair is so soft, Georgie.”

“As you’ve mentioned.”

“And I’ve been so wrong about him for so long, there’s no way he’d be interested now.”

“I’ve heard you say this before, yes.”

“But I can’t stop  _ looking _ at him-”

“Jon!” Georgie sat up from her position on the floor, the Admiral curled on her stomach, ignoring his meow of protest at the jostling. “I invited you over to hang out, because you’re my best friend. If you say one more sappy thing about Martin that you’ve already said five times, that title may be subject to change.”

Jon closed his mouth before he could finish his sentence, and she heaved a dramatic sigh of relief. He attempted not to make any sort of expression that could be interpreted as pouting.

“Have you considered talking with him about your feelings.” Georgie barely bothered phrasing it as a question. “I’m assuming no. Maybe you should try that, Jon, so I don’t have to go through another week of you talking about how soft his hair is.” 

“But he’s so-”

“- _ cute _ , I don’t know what to do, honestly!” Martin continued, looking at Sasha pleadingly, who shrugged.

“I mean, if you like that sort of thing, sure, I suppose. Wouldn’t have expected to hear Jon described that way.”

“Sasha, please.” He widened his eyes at her, and she hit him lightly with a pillow.

“Puppy dog eyes, Martin, really? I can’t believe you invited me over with ulterior motives. I thought this was a purely ‘watch rom coms and drink wine’ experience.” The two were both stretched over Martin’s couch, throw pillows piled high around them and a few empty bottles laying on their side on the coffee table. 

“What do you even want me to do, anyway? Ask Jon ‘do you like-like Martin?’” Sasha batted her eyelashes in her best imitation of a high schooler, and Martin groaned.

“No, I don’t know, just… I guess you’re right, it’s kind of ridiculous.” He took another long gulp of his wine, and Sasha swung one of her legs over his, adjusting so she was in an even more sprawled position. 

“I’ll do my best detective work, alright?”

“Thank you. It’s just so hard to tell what he’s thinking, especially when he’s so-”

“- _ distracting _ . How on earth am I supposed to read statements when he’s bringing me tea, or taking notes, or something? All he has to do is smile and I lose my whole train of thought!” Jon continued, eyes wild. Tim kicked his feet up on Jon’s desk, and the other man used a pencil to push them off, looking unimpressed.

“Did you call me into your office just to talk about how in love you are with Martin?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow, and immediately rolled his eyes at Jon’s scandalized expression. “Okay, fine, sorry. Did you call me into your office just to talk about how you can’t stop staring at Martin’s smile in a strictly platonic manner.”

“Tim, really! I’m asking for your help, I don’t know what to do!” Jon tapped his fingers on his desk, casting a worried glance at his office door to make sure it still remained firmly shut. Sasha and Martin were out to lunch, last he checked, but it was still prudent to be careful.

“And you chose me, not Sasha?” Tim asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t she be the go-to?”

“Sasha told me I’m not allowed to ask her about Martin-related topics, ever since I talked for too long about how he-”

“-always thanks me when I bring him tea now, and helped me after the Elias incident, and ever since then he’s been so kind to me, and-” 

“Martin, why on earth am I the one you’re talking to about this?” Basira interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. They were sitting in the assistant’s room in the Archives, and she had simply wanted to ask Sasha a question, only to walk in and find only Martin, who had immediately started ranting to her as apparently the only person willing to listen.

“Oh. Well, ah, Sasha and Tim are avoiding me, I think, and I couldn’t exactly talk to Jon.” Martin’s knee bounced furiously, betraying his nerves, and Basira took pity somewhat. She had been the same way around Daisy when they had first met, after all, and it was obvious Martin was much more anxious than Basira herself had ever been. 

“I mean. You could, that would be the logical next step if you want to progress the relationship further.” She pointed out, thinking with no real hope behind it that it would be awfully convenient if Jon could coincidentally overhear this somehow. Real life was always so much more work.

“I can’t do that, what if he doesn’t feel the same way and the friendship is ruined?” Martin asked earnestly, and Basira did her best not to roll her eyes.

“Does it matter, Martin? You either tell him how you feel or you don’t, but there’s only one way to find out, and look you have me giving advice now. I’ve been trying so hard to avoid it, Martin, honestly, I’m only here to cross-reference a case with one of your statements, why do I keep getting wrapped up in this?” She spoke at first to him, but as her sentence continued she gathered her things and by the end of it she was on her way out the door and her words were clearly meant for herself. Martin called after her.

“Basira, wait, I need your-”

“-help! This is getting ridiculous!” Sasha exclaimed, sitting on top of a stack of cardboard boxes. Tim leaned against the wall nearby, looking tired, while Basira sat cross-legged on the floor, thumbing the spine of a book tucked under her arm absent-mindedly.

“I know you’ve explained why I’m here already, but I’m still failing to see the connection,” she said in a long-suffering sort of tone. 

“You’re basically part of the Archives now, you’re here all the time anyway,” Tim scoffed, sliding down the wall slowly to a sitting position. 

“I’m here to research, not to get involved in office romances.”    
“Like Martin hasn’t already talked your ear off. You know we have to do  _ something _ ,” he stressed, and Sasha nodded.

“He’s only going to keep bothering you every time you show up,” she agreed, stretching out her legs in front of her. “You either have to help us or resign yourself to hearing about how amazing Jon is every time you have to come here for any reason. Plus signature Martin jealousy if you spend more than five minutes alone with our dear Archivist.”

“Plus, you can’t have a team with just two people, and Sasha and I won’t get anything done if it's just us.” Tim pointed out. Sasha nodded in agreement, and Basira gave a small grudging sigh.

“So what are you going to do?” There was silence for a moment as Tim and Sasha exchanged a look. 

“Parent Trap them?” Tim suggested. Sasha seemed to be actually considering it for a moment before shaking her head.

“Lock them in a room for a week?” Basira offered.

“Don’t they already spend enough time down in the basement as is?” Sasha leaned back, twirling a long braid around her finger. 

“It doesn’t have to be a complicated plan,” Tim started. “The only thing we absolutely have to make sure they do is-”

“-spend time together outside of work, so I thought perhaps this might be an opportunity?” Jon said much too quickly, hiding his fidgeting hands under the desk. Martin paused for a moment.

“Erm, sorry, Jon, could you repeat the first bit?”

“There’s a statement I need your eyes on. We don’t often spend time together outside of work, so I thought perhaps this might be an opportunity. Are you- would you like to- is Thursday night open on your schedule. To get coffee.” Jon added quickly. “And work on the statement.”

“I should be free.” Martin looked at him with wide eyes, looking a bit quizzical, and Jon tried to think of what he could need to elaborate on. “Is this a, uh- purely work- or is this a friendly sort of- what I’m trying to say, is-”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what you’re-” 

“I will… see you Thursday, Jon.” Martin cut him off, smiling softly at Jon. He swallowed his words, giving Martin a sharp nod and a strained smile. He’d been practicing words in his head for days now, and apparently now needed almost none of them. 

Jon stood, ready to gather his own things. It was close to the end of the day, and he had spent most of it procrastinating to put off this exact moment. 

Martin took a step closer to him, and Jon froze, motionless as Martin bent down to press a swift kiss to his cheek before vacating the room as quickly as he was able to. This seemed to have become something of a running theme between them. 

Jon paused a moment, and gently touched where Martin had pressed his lips to. He had asked Martin to coffee. It was implied to be a date. Martin had caught his implications, even with Jon’s awkward stuttering and hemming and hawing.

He couldn’t wait to tell Georgie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personal headcanon is that daisy and basira are already in a romantic relationship and just private about it so i’m working with that for this fic, i don’t care if its unconfirmed theyre lesbians harold
> 
> tumblr is @diffenbachiae !! come say hi!! yell at me about updating faster! it'll work!


	22. jon's phone has three apps on it and two of them are news apps. martin has five different knock-offs of candy crush, but doesn't own the actual game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for A) not updating for a few days and B) the short length of this chapter and C) that it could probably be better and i'll go back and edit it eventually but i just wanted to get it posted. mother's day weekend is always rough for me and i was kinda beep beep struggle busing, updates should go back to every day or so now that that's over with!

**assistants assemble! grouptext, 7:36 pm**

_ martin _ : He’s said ‘neat’ 8 times what does that mean

_ sasha _ : means he’s nervous, martin.

_ tim _ : thrown off by ur confidence, no doubt

_ sasha _ : tim, shut up!

_ sasha _ : martin, it’ll go great, don’t worry so much!

_ basira _ : Tim, stop inviting me to these.

**_basira_ ** **has left the chat, 7:45 pm**

  
  


“So, ah, what statement did you need my eyes on?” Martin asked, glancing to see if Jon had produced some papers somewhere he hadn’t noticed. They were tucked away in the corner of an open-late coffeeshop, a hipster-y sort of place Martin loved and had suggested. The Smiths played softly from speakers downstairs, the volume at a comfortable low background hum.

“I. Well. I didn’t bring a statement, actually.” Jon did not elaborate, and Martin raised a questioning eyebrow at him. Was Jon… turning pink? “How are you, Martin?”

“I’m well, Jon. You?” Martin replied automatically, distracted for a moment by examining Jon’s face. The soft light of the coffeeshop made his angular features stand out, his eyes appearing dark and soft, shadows playing across his skin as he nervously tapped his finger on his lips. 

“I’m fine.” Jon glanced around at the other patrons of the coffeeshop. There weren’t many in sight, the hour being a bit late for caffeine, and their table was one of the only occupied. He switched to drumming his fingers on the table, and Martin paused for only a moment before reaching out and putting his hand on top of Jon’s.

Jon immediately flipped his hand over to tangle their fingers together, and Martin was extraordinarily pleased about it. They had made such progress since their first initial, awkward hug, their first stilted conversation, even if the progress wasn’t always obvious.

“How’s Georgie?” He asked, and Jon’s face seemed to relax at both an easy topic to talk about and at the reassurance of Martin’s hand in his own. Their words began to flow much more easily, and the night passed quickly.

**assistants assemble! grouptext, 9:15 pm**

_ martin _ : He held my hand

_ tim _ : b4 marriage???

**_tim_ ** **added** **_basira_ ** **to the chat, 9:17 pm**

_ sasha _ : are you two still at the coffeeshop?

_ martin _ : Yes

**_basira_ ** **has left the chat, 9:20 pm**

_ sasha _ : invite him to your flat!

**_martin_ ** **added** **_basira_ ** **to the chat, 9:25 pm**

_ martin _ : I need all the help I can get

_ basira _ : You’re all ridiculous.

“Would you- w- my flat is nearby.” Martin managed to get out, and Jon seemed not to hear him, continuing speaking for a good thirty seconds before noticing Martin had said something.

“Sorry, Martin, what was that?” Jon looked a bit sheepish. Martin smiled fondly, squeezing his hand, and watched him smile in return. He couldn’t believe he was allowed to do this- that he was allowed to hold Jon’s hand, to look at his smile and know he put that there. Maybe it was the right move to press his luck?

“Would you like to come over my flat?” He repeated, less nerves this time, but his face fell as Jon looked a bit panicked and pulled his hand away.

“Martin, I’m sorry if I gave you to the wrong idea, this isn’t- I don’t-”

“Oh- Jon, nothing untoward, just to watch a movie or something? It’s the first date, I wasn’t even thinking about anything like that.” Jon still looked a bit uncomfortable.

“Alright, but I don’t- ever.” His eyes searched Martin’s, who thought for a moment. 

“Fine by me. Movie, then?” Jon had replaced his hand on the table, and Martin made a tentative move toward it. His movement was caught by Jon, who beat him to it and reached out for Martin’s hand.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all.” Martin watched Jon’s smile reappear. 

**assistants assemble! grouptext, 10:10 pm**

_ martin _ : He’s been talking about the difference between loath and loathe for twenty minutes

_ sasha _ : so it’s not going well?

_ martin _ : What? No it’s going amazing

“Can’t believe you’ve never seen any Pixar movies,” Martin repeated incredulously, and Jon sighed from his spot on the couch. The flat was small, but lived in, especially since Martin had actually begun having guests over regularly, and now the flat showed signs of it. Extra cushions, more than one wine glass, Tim’s long-forgotten jacket slung over the back of a nearby chair, and now even Polaroids plastered on the wall here and there, all showing Sasha and Tim and Martin and sometimes Jon’s smiling faces.

“Ratatouille, or… Wall-E. I’m thinking Wall-E.” Martin waved DVD cases at Jon, who shrugged.

“I can’t offer an opinion if I haven’t seen either, Martin,” he pointed out, and Martin grinned at him.

Jon wasn’t sure what had happened to him, or how he hadn’t noticed the change, but Martin’s smile had become hypnotizing. He felt wrapped up in it, he wanted to see it again and again and again, he wanted to kiss the curve of Martin’s lips and the corner of his eye as it crinkled. The air felt charged and electric, and he was hyper-aware of how much he wanted to kiss Martin. 

“I think you’ll like it.” Martin moved as he spoke, settling into the couch right besides Jon. His leg was pressed up against Jon’s own, and their shoulders were inches apart. Nothing was more important to Jon in this moment than staying as absolutely still as he possibly could. 

Martin looked at him, almost shyly, and moved his arm so it rested on the back of the couch. Jon would fit perfectly into the space it left behind. 

He didn’t move closer, but Martin’s arm remained, and the movie started. 

Jon fell asleep less than fifteen minutes in.

Martin had watched as Jon’s breathing slowed as he relaxed, and he looked anywhere except the movie screen. In the beginning he’d interrupted often to put in his own two cents, but as the movie continued his eyelids drooped and his head slowly fell onto Martin’s shoulder.

And so now Jon was practically curled in Martin’s lap, making it one of the first times Martin could ever describe Jon as ‘silent and still’. He was much colder than Martin expected and he shifted, pulling a blanket most of the way over Jon and attempting to untangle himself, but it seemed impossible to move much without waking the other man. 

**assistants assemble! grouptext, 11:00 pm**

_ martin _ : He’s asleep

_ tim _ : aw, little tyke tuckered himself out

_ martin _ : Shut up, Tim

_ sasha _ : shut up, tim!

_ basira _ : So the date went well? We can all stop hearing about this now?

_ martin _ : I think I love him

_ tim _ : 0-100 real quick

_ tim _ : are u gonna tell him?

_ martin _ : Well, he’s asleep

_ tim _ : i didn’t mean RIGHT NOW

Jon woke up to a sun-filled living room.

He was laying half-in and half-out of Martin’s lap, sprawled across his chest in a cross between sitting and lying down. Martin was asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly with the sound of soft snoring, and his phone laying forgotten on the ground half-under the couch. 

Jon sat up slightly, shifting, and Martin made a small noise, his arm around Jon tightening. Jon froze, and Martin didn’t stir further. He slowly slipped out his phone from his pocket. Three missed calls from an unknown number, and a missed text from Georgie.

**jon - > georgie, 6:43 am**

_ georgie _ : How’s it going, ace?

_ jon _ : Is that a pun.

_ georgie _ : ;)

_ jon _ : I just woke up. He’s still asleep, but we both must’ve dozed off on the couch during the movie.

_ georgie _ : Proud of you!

_ jon _ : Georgie, what do I do?

_ georgie _ : Okay, you definitely do not need me to tell you that.

_ georgie _ : Gotta go, okay? Getting a call. You know exactly what to do.

Jon glanced at Martin’s face, smoothed out in sleep and perfect. Perhaps Georgie was right. He did know exactly what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still can't decide if i like any part of this chapter but u know what? we stan jon 'i literally do not have the attention span for a movie' sims bc what a mood
> 
> gonna finish the newest chapter of my coffeeshop au next go check that out perhaps <3


	23. PLOT! with a healthy side of timsasha and everyone else being gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> has anyone else put an absolutely insane amount of thought into which fear they would be an avatar of… i know with 100% certainty that i would be an avatar of the eye, with my ‘ravenclaw since age 6’ ‘yeah i know the drama doesn’t affect or involve me but i need to know everything immediately’ ‘if you refuse to tell me this secret i will absolutely be unable to handle it’ looking ass self, and i WILL be getting eye tattoos on my elbows and neck when tattoo shops reopen. i even already have an eye tattoo. 
> 
> anyway… here’s the chapter. writing georgie has been way easier ever since i took the meyers-briggs test in character for her and it turns out we have the same type lol ENFJ represent

“I’m sorry,  _ what  _ did you say happened exactly-”

“I got stabbed, but it’s not that big of a deal, I-”

“Melanie!” Georgie’s outraged cry echoed through the speakers, and Melanie winced.

“Georgie, that’s not why I’m calling you- Jon said if I couldn’t get through to him, you would be the next person to call, and I called him three times, he’s not answering.”

“Oh, he said that, did he?” Her voice was tense, and Melanie could hear her take a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was much calmer. “Okay. Okay. Do you need medical attention?”

“No, it’s not that bad-”

“Being stabbed with a scalpel is maybe what I would consider ‘pretty bad’. You should- I’ll text you my address, okay? Let me look at your shoulder, at least.” Georgie ran a hand over the Admiral’s ears, closing her eyes for a moment. Never a dull moment, apparently. She supposed she should get a hold of Jon.

Sasha giggled, making a valiant attempt to keep her wine glass upright as she let herself sway, feeling the effects of the alcohol a lot more than she had expected to. Tim let himself fall onto the bed next to her, shoving his face into her neck, and she laughed, falling backwards and drinking the rest of the contents of her glass as she did so. Everything felt loose and free, and she felt like she could close her eyes and spin, and spin, and spin.

“Sasha-” She could hear Tim say her name, but his voice was muffled as he spoke into her skin. Sasha pushed him away slightly, just enough so that she could look into his eyes, and kissed him, smiling against his mouth and watching as his eyes lit up and he pressed more and more sloppy kisses to her neck, her collarbone, her jaw.

“Shhhh, busy,” she said, distracted, pushing her hands up into his hair and letting her thumbs rest just behind each of his ears. Tim was still swaying a bit even as she tried to hold him still, to take in every tiny detail of him. 

He was staring back at her, and she almost felt like she needed to close her eyes under the weight of the intensity of his gaze. She loved him so much it felt like she would burst, sometimes, like her emotions were too strong for her to contain, and nothing she did alleviated the pressure.

Well. Perhaps some things did, somewhat. Sasha leaned in to kiss him, trying to force the intensity of her feelings through the contact, and he laughed against her lips as she flipped their positions and ended up sprawled on top of him. The sun was close to the end of its setting, casting glowing gold onto Tim’s grinning face and making his eyes shine. It was Friday, finally, they had gotten off work only a short while earlier and they had the entire beautiful weekend to spend together. Everything was perfect.

Tim propped himself up onto his elbows to get a better angle, deepening the kiss, and shifted to lean against the wall, pulling Sasha partly into his lap and keeping his arms around her.

“So pretty, Tim,” She sighed, betraying her tipsiness a bit more than she meant to, and touched her thumb gently to his bottom lip. Tim gave her a look of mock offense.

“Devilishly handsome, more like,” he shot back, and Sasha laughed.

“And modest. Don’t forget modest.” She reached for the empty wine glass she had let fall to the bedspread, and Tim moved to give her enough range of motion to fill the glass from the nearby bottle. There was enough time for her to drink half of it before Tim was pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, she paused to enjoy it, and he quickly snatched the glass out of her hand and drained the rest of it.

“Playing dirty.” She pouted at him and Tim put on an obviously false pout of his own, before kissing her again. He tasted like wine and sugar.

Her phone buzzed, somewhere under the covers, and she ignored it in favor of making out with her boyfriend, because it was the weekend and she was allowed to. It buzzed again. Tim’s phone, tucked into his back pocket, buzzed, and Sasha let out the most dramatic sigh she could muster, quickly turning it into a choked sort of noise when Tim started pressing open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone. 

“Should- my phone-” she attempted to get out, gently pushing Tim’s forehead to get him to pause for a moment. He lifted the nearby blankets to search for it, and she reached forward to pull Tim’s phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it easily. He should really stop making his password her birthday.

“Jon called you.” She showed Tim the screen, and he rolled his eyes, grabbing his phone and tossing it onto the bed besides them.

“He probably just wants to talk more about Martin and their date yesterday. It’s only been a day and I’m sick of hearing about it, let’s just…” Tim cut himself off by returning to kissing Sasha, and she found herself unable to complain. Whatever romance advice Jon needed, it could wait until tomorrow. If it was important, he would’ve sent a text first telling them what was up before calling, he wasn’t that much of an old man to expect them to drop everything to pick up a phone call.

“Why aren’t they picking up? It’s important!” Jon asked, frustrated, pacing back and forth in a corner of the room. Georgie looked unfazed, sitting on the couch near Melanie, who was dwarfed in one of Georgie’s t-shirts- oversized on Georgie, it was practically a dress on Melanie. Melanie had stayed the night at Georgie’s, having shown up on her doorstep the night prior, when Martin and Jon had been otherwise occupied. 

“Well, didn’t you say they both went home hours ago? That might have something to do with why they’re not picking up a call from their boss on a Friday night,” Melanie snarked, and Jon was ready to shoot her an irritated look before he forcibly reminded himself that she had just been stabbed. It was justified to be a bit cranky.

“Jon, relax. Melanie is fine, I’m fine, we’re all fine, your assistants are fine. I don’t understand why this is such-”

“Because he’s planning something! Michael, showing up, again? Coincidentally right where Melanie is, and pushing her through a door? And I’m almost certain he didn’t the first time round!” Jon said in a rush, his pace growing faster and faster. His visions had lessened in quantity, but recently he had been getting more and more flashes- however, they weren’t always in the future. He had seen Melanie going to the train car after it happened, but in his vision, he had seen police, flashing lights, and neither Michael nor Georgie had made an appearance during or after the events. According to Melanie, almost everything had been the same, but she’d seen a blonde man with unnerving hands push her backwards and when she regained her bearings, she was only a few blocks from Georgie’s apartment.    
“I’m not complaining, I would’ve definitely been arrested if he hadn’t shown up,” Melanie offered, and Jon shook his head.

“This isn’t how this works. The monsters don’t just-  _ help  _ you for no reason- he must have ulterior motives, or- I don’t know. We need Sasha...” He trailed off, pulling out his phone to yet again dial Sasha’s number.

“Why don’t you call Martin, instead of harassing Sasha and Tim? They must be busy, if she still hasn’t picked up- and Jon, honestly, I still don’t understand why this is a problem. Michael seems to be on our side, all he did was show up, get Melanie out of there before the police could come, and disappear again.” Georgie pulled the Admiral into her arms, holding him out for Jon.

“He didn’t even say anything, Jon,” Melanie added. “Just laughed.”

Jon picked up the Admiral, burying his face into the cat’s soft fur. “I can’t call Martin.”

“And why is that.” Georgie looked exasperated before he had even responded.

“Our date was only yesterday, it’s too soon to call-” Jon attempted to get out, but Georgie was not buying any of it. 

“You’re calling him about an avatar of fear that already took his phone and was partially responsible for trapping him in his apartment in fear of evil worms, I think nothing about this situation constitutes normal first date etiquette.” She shot back dryly, and Jon reluctantly conceded. 

It took less than an hour for Martin to arrive at Georgie’s flat, and Georgie had to stifle a smile as she watched the anxiety practically bleed out of Jon within seconds of him getting there. She stood, leaving room for Martin to sit near Jon on the couch, and joined Jon’s pacing around the room.

Martin had politely complimented Georgie’s home, looking quite taken aback by the entire situation, and had taken a seat on the couch. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, and Georgie couldn’t blame him- she’d met the man only once before, while yelling at his boss and romantic interest in front of him, and now he had to sit in her living room while they tried to work out this entire mess and figure out what to do next. Martin had already helped with the first task on the list.

That is, to calm down Jon, which Georgie honestly saw as priority one. She wasn’t sure if it was her lack of fear or her common sense, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth when it came to terrifying creatures actually helping them instead of hurting them for once, and although she understood Jon’s confusion it was hard for her to understand his anxiety. 

Georgie was startled out of her thoughts as she watched Jon sit beside Martin, closer than the amount of space on the couch would dictate, and saw Martin immediately lace their fingers together. His index finger tapped lightly on Jon’s hand, and Jon visibly relaxed, leaning in close to Martin and beginning to fill him in on the events of the night and Michael and everything he needed to be filled in on.

Melanie was tapping on her phone, and Georgie took a second to admire her for just a moment longer. Dark tattoos curled around her arms, standing out starkly against her pale skin, and she had pulled out her scrunchie to let her thick black hair hang over her eyes. She looked up at Georgie through dark eyelashes and Georgie stubbornly refused to blush or look away too quickly. 

“Your shoulder okay?” She asked, leaning against the armrest close to Melanie, and Melanie gave a nod. 

“Yeah. Thank you. For wrapping it up. And, you know, your help,” she replied, fidgeting with one of her earrings. “It’s been a really long day.” 

“Well. A long day and night. We both need to get some sleep.” Georgie smiled at Melanie, and her spirits lifted to see Melanie return it.

“I have fourteen missed calls from Jon.” Sasha let her phone drop onto her stomach, and Tim raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Should you call him back? Now that we’re both more sober?” He asked, gently rubbing her shoulders from where he sat behind her. She sighed, leaning back into his touch, and he pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. 

“Soon. I’ll call him soon. I have more important things to do right now.” 

“Like what?” Tim asked, and received no answer except Sasha’s lips against his. Jon could wait, just a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> timeline clarifications: basira arrived september 19th, 2016, and the match-cut dialogue chapter is a bit of a subtle timeskip forward to mid october. in canon, helen richardson gives her statement october 2nd- i’m playing with dates a little bit, so in this fic that hasn’t happened yet, and jonmartin date takes place november 3rd. melanie goes to investigate the train car around a month early, in november instead of december. 
> 
> and i lost MY OWN GAME of buzz by forgetting chapter 21 is a multiple of 7. some camp counselor i am


	24. boring filler chapter :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone commented on the last chapter that apparently it’s weird i can stop myself from blushing?? maybe u guys are just weak??? idk man. anyways hello. welcome back to another chapter, i'm SO sorry it's been so long!!!!!! here’s a short lil snippet to tide you over, nothing exciting

“To be entirely fair, Jon, this isn’t the first time I’ve had 15 missed calls from you. Last time, you just wanted to tell me a theory you came up with so you wouldn’t have to write it down.” Sasha looked less apologetic than Jon had expected when he told her what she had missed, but he couldn’t deny his typical phone etiquette left a lot to be desired. To be entirely fair to Jon- he had thought the theory quite important. 

He opened his mouth to protest, and Georgie quickly saw an opportunity to cut in. They were sitting in various places around the Archives’ assistant’s room, all of their eclectic group yawning through a Monday morning, with Basira grudgingly perched on a desk, Georgie cross-legged on the floor, and Melanie having stolen an assistant’s chair. This left Tim to attempt to clamber into Sasha’s lap every few minutes or so, to his great amusement and no one else’s. 

“That’s not- what’s important is that we discuss what to do when something like this happens again. We can’t constantly use a buddy system,” Georgie added, glancing around the room. Tim snorted at this, looking over to Jon and Martin, who were sitting much closer than strictly necessary. Martin shot a glare at him in response.

“Why don’t we arrange some sort of phone tree?” Sasha offered, and Melanie shook her head, absent-mindedly running her thumb over a small tattoo on her wrist. 

“A groupchat would be easier.” 

Basira pinched the bridge of her nose at Tim’s delighted grin, and Jon watched as their ‘team meeting’ devolved into something that could be described as team antics. He trusted these people- was growing almost overly affectionate, if he was labeling these feelings correctly- but it had been much easier to maneuver when he was a team of one.

But much more lonely, he amended, as he felt Martin scoot an inch closer to him so he could almost feel his arm pressed against him. Jon closed the space between them, moving yet closer, and thrilled a bit at Martin’s small smile. This was so new, he was still unbearably anxious about handling something incorrectly, stomping on whatever was growing between them. He seemed to have been doing a decent job so far, but there’d been many points in his life where a ‘decent job’ for social situations in his eyes didn’t quite measure up to others’ standards.

He could almost feel his head swell with thoughts, and was brought out of it by Martin subtly slipping his hand into Jon’s. Jon made a conscious effort to end his self-pity party for the day.

“-if you promise not to send any more of those ridiculous texts.” He tuned back in at the end of what seemed to have been quite a pointed statement, if Basira’s tone was anything to go by. It did not seem to be inspiring the desired reaction. Tim looked quite unbothered. 

“Ridiculous! Honestly. I’m unappreciated in my own time.” Tim’s dramatics went ignored by everyone except Sasha, who giggled. He looked quite pleased with himself at this, and continued. “Boss, what do you think? Spooky updates groupchat?”

Jon was a bit startled to see all eyes turn to him. It seemed a bit unwise to label him the leader of their unofficial group, but it seemed it had happened without his input.

“Yes. Fine. It doesn’t seem quite enough, but if you all are determined not to be concerned about Michael, I suppose I won’t be either.” He reluctantly conceded, and took a moment to reflect that at least he’d get a good ‘i told you so’ out of the entire situation. If there was anyone left to say it to. It was rapidly occurring to Jon that he might be a pessimist. 

Tim looked much more pleased than he had any right to be, and Sasha looked a bit like she was warring between preventing chaos and assisting it. Martin attempted to hide an affectionate smile at Jon’s frustration, and he tried to decipher if he was pleased by the affection or cross about the dismissal. 

“I’m sure we’ll all be careful and safe,” Georgie added, attempting to reassure him, and Jon gave a shrug instead of a response, reaching the end of his patience for the conversation. If he had to be the paranoid one, so be it. 

It wasn’t until much later that Martin found a moment to be alone with Jon. 

Most of the day had been filled by their group’s antics, Tim’s joking and Melanie’s sarcastic quips and Sasha and Georgie encouraging each of them with small smiles or laughs. Jon and Basira had come to a sort of friendship that seemed to consist entirely of sending each other dry glances from across the room, which left Martin to sit near Jon, enjoying the warmth of his shoulder against his own, and to think about the recent developments. Specifically, those regarding Jon and himself.

He had managed to catch Jon as he was leaving the building for the day, and at a normal hour at that. Jon had turned, spotted Martin, and immediately smiled, pausing to wait for Martin to catch up, and Martin watched his smile grow yet wider as he easily slipped his hand into Jon’s. 

“Hi, Jon,” he got out, a bit out of breath, and Jon tugged him to the side slightly, towards a nearby bench, tucked away behind a triangle of birch trees. The sun was setting slowly, taking its time to sink steadily beneath the horizon, but already low enough that they could barely see by the last dregs of daylight. 

“Are you alright? I know everything with Michael is-” Jon started in a rush, his words tripping over themselves in their haste to get out, and Martin nodded quickly, giving a slight squeeze to Jon’s hand.

“Fine. Fine. Are you alright? I think of the two of us, you might be a bit more shaken than I am.” He tried to phrase his words like a gentle tease, but Jon sighed, sinking onto the bench and pulling Martin alongside him. Martin hesitated only a moment before putting an arm around Jon, and couldn’t help a small smile as Jon gave yet another sigh and let his head fall onto Martin’s broad shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Martin, just worried. It seems to be my default state, these days,” he said quietly, and Martin couldn’t help gently running his fingers through Jon’s hair, resisting the urge to attempt to braid it. It was getting long, but not unkempt, falling just below Jon’s ears into slight waves and curls. 

“We’ll be okay. We have each-other, we have your visions- we have Melanie, and it seems like she’ll be able to death-glare the spooky stuff into submission.” Martin offered, hoping it would be enough to soothe Jon somewhat, and felt pleased at Jon’s soft smile in response. It felt like they were the only two people in the city, just them and their bench and the lamp-light doing its best to drive away the growing shadows of the evening. 

“We do indeed have each-other,” he replied, sitting up straight, and Martin immediately mourned the softness of Jon’s head tucked into his neck- he didn’t have long to miss it, as Jon pushed his hand into Martin’s gingery curls, resting his thumb just before Martin’s ear and splaying his other fingers over his neck. 

Martin leaned into the touch, wanting to close his eyes but not wanting to miss the image of Jon’s face so close to his, his lips only inches away. Centimeters even, closer than he had thought, and he realized Jon was leaning in slowly, seemingly waiting for Martin’s reaction. 

He closed the distance between them.

Kissing Jon felt like the most easy thing in the world. There was no magical moment of passion or fireworks or any romance novel drivel- just softness, in everything from the way Jon was cradling his face to the way he tasted of the earl-grey tea Martin had made him earlier in the day.

He shifted the angle slightly, so Jon was practically in his lap, but neither minded, and even when Martin eventually had to break for air their faces were so close their noses were practically touching. Martin was not keen on there being any distance between him and Jon, and it seemed Jon concurred.

He thought it must be impossible for there to be a better sight than Jon after just having been kissed. Jon’s hair was mussed now, as Martin had ran his hands through it, and his lips were red and parted slightly, and Martin kissed them again, and then Jon’s cheek, and then his lips again after they had curved into a smile. Jon in turn took hold of Martin’s wrist, running his thumb gently over his pulse point, and Martin couldn’t name all the emotions running through him, couldn’t find words to tell Jon how much this meant to him, how much he wanted to bottle up this moment and keep it with him forever. Jon seemed to be trying to vocalize his own feelings, but of course Jon could use words in a way Martin had never been able to. 

“Martin, I- I care about you. I’d like to- if it’d be- is this dating, or-” Jon stumbled over each sentence he attempted to begin, and Martin amended his earlier thought. Perhaps he had more words than Jon in this moment.

“I’d be quite pleased if I could introduce you to people as my boyfriend,” he offered, hoping that would sum up the situation nicely, and Jon kissed him again, and again, and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this chapter isn't good and i don't even care i just need to get it written and posted before i get distracted again!!!!! within the last month i moved into a new apartment, started a new job, and had my 20th birthday last week, so basically i've been SUPER busy and haven't really had time, energy, or motivation to write. i can't promise that's really going to change anytime soon, my job is 8 hours a day hiking/doing outdoor summer camp with 4-6 year olds so i'm gonna be pretty damn tired. what i CAN promise is that feedback & comments from you guys is the only reason this chapter even got written, so if it's been a while since i've updated you can totally bully me into continuing this story either on here or shoot me an ask @diffenbachiae on tumblr. ty guys for ur patience and i hope u liked this chapter <3333333333


	25. some #chillbrobondingtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S ON 50 THOUSAND WORDS!
> 
> tw for this chapter (nothing that isn't in the podcast, so i'm not rly sure if this is necessary, but it's def not a tooth rotting fluff chapter like yesterday): talk about major character death, descriptions of blood and violence, description of worms burrowing so like. insect tw i guess, i think that's about it.
> 
> aka: the author gets a migraine and so jon gets a migraine too bc write what you feel i guess

It was the  _ stench _ that hit him first, that deep rotting slimy air that seemed to seep into his lungs the moment he stepped onto the first step leading down, down, deeper into the basement.

He could feel the worms- he knew logically there weren’t any, but all he could smell was that same disgusting mold as when they were burrowing into his skin- his lungs were screaming for fresh air and his head was all fear- he could see a knot of tangled writhing worms, squirming in a familiar pattern, a whorl in a table, a sort of moving spiral that spun and spun dizzyingly and he heard a high laugh from something that was wearing Sasha’s name.

A smile full of white teeth- stretched pink lips, skin all pale and sickly and wrong, painted-on blush and curly blonde hair and no more debates on ‘calli-o-pe’, just Stock photos and a never-leaving anxiety. He felt like he was chewing on metal as he caught a glimpse through his own eyes but not him, felt himself spitting something at Tim, felt something in each of them  _ break _ just a little in anger and fear and rage. This Tim was covered in scars too, and he felt like in this world Jon himself wore those same scars, but as he looked down his hands were blank. Something was wrong, and this wasn’t-

But he spun again and his head went all dizzy and painful and he could see laughing grinning mannequins taunting him as Tim stood nearby, holding something, and there was no goodbye only more anger more pain and Tim was gone and he was gone hating Jon and he was-

It was too much information, too much disjointed fragmented painful memories jammed into his already sore head. Jon felt himself cry out, although his mouth didn’t move and he couldn’t hear if anyone had responded, and then he was looking at a woman with dark hair dark skin long long fingers that made his mind tilt.

“Ow,” Jon got out, eloquently.

“This isn’t right.” The woman looked at Jon, and the eye contact made his head steady, just for a moment. It was enough relief that his brain clicked somewhat back into place. It felt- too full, somehow. He was seeing double.

“Where-” 

“Don’t.” She looked at him for another long moment. “Something happened. Something we did- but not us. I’m still- I’m still me, right now. You’re still you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He thought he might know, just a little, but not him. The one he saw through the eyes of, sometimes. 

“I’m Helen,” Helen said, and held out a hand for Jon to shake. He took it. The pain was immediate, slicing through him, he felt like his hand would drop to the floor, severed, and then the feeling passed and Helen was smiling at him and he was dropping to the floor to sit, swaying and faint.

“I’m- Jonathan Sims. Jon.” His words wavered, he could hear someone’s voice, the voice of someone familiar, and then he could hear Helen’s voice. 

“-Michael. He isn’t here anymore. It’s just me, but he did something- something is wrong.” Jon had missed part of what she said, something important. He could see himself, for a second, something about a shortcut, and he could feel something wet on his hand. 

“You need to remember it. You need to, so we can fix it.” Helen’s voice was growing insistent, and Jon’s head  _ burned  _ as he saw Tim’s face and then fire, and for a brief moment Martin’s neck covered in  _ worms  _ and the stench billowing towards him and then Melanie covered in blood and then his own hand covered in blood-

and that last one was different, than the others, it was sharper and more clear and he became vaguely aware that he was curled on the floor of his office and Tim was shouting his name and his hand was dripping blood everywhere.

“I know what happened- Tim- I went through a door. You’re dead, you know?” He got out, in a casual sort of tone- and Tim grabbed him into a tight hug.

“Jon, what the fuck- I thought you were  _ dying _ , shit-” his eyes were wild, his panic making Jon dizzy, and Jon grabbed onto his shoulders for balance. Tim shifted, pulling Jon with him to lean against one of the office walls next to him. The world steadied, just a bit.

“No. No. I’m fine. Stepped through a door. You- you didn’t though, you-” Jon attempted again to sort through the images, and tasted metal. Sasha he knew- but Tim- he couldn’t stomach what he had seen. 

“I’m not, though. No matter what you saw.” Tim bumped Jon’s shoulder, a bit too roughly, and Jon swayed a bit. He managed a nod. 

“Right. Right. I- I couldn’t imagine, Tim. We all- we all need you here.” He took a deep breath, attempting to fix his vision on a steady point, and gave a grateful sigh as Tim clasped a steadying hand on his arm. “I saw- Michael, but not him. Someone replaced him. Her name is Helen.”

“Okay. Well. Do we need to worry about her? Is she… friendly?” Tim asked, looking a bit like he was mentally taking notes, and Jon’s anxiety settled just a bit at the methodical approach. 

“Seemed to be. I introduced myself, and she said that something we did- us, but not us, because right now I’m still me- but Michael and not-me did that broke something. And I need to remember, to fix it.” It was already blurred and fuzzy, like attempting to retell a dream, and he needed to get all the words out so Tim could help them stay clear. Jon attempted to focus, but it felt like shards of glass were under his skin, needling his tired head. 

“And what you did- you stepped through a door? One of Michael’s?” Jon had never been more grateful for the speed of Tim’s mind. He wasn’t sure he could find the words to explain more than he had.

“Yes. I think so. And it’s not supposed to- work that way. That’s where the visions are coming from. And why they hurt.” Jon could hear Michael’s laugh, echoing, building in a sort of static, and it faded as he found words that he could tell weren’t originally his. He knew this, somehow. Michael had told this to him, or the not-him that had stepped through a door to try and fix something that the not-him had broken.

“Okay.” Tim took a second to process, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Jon took the opportunity for a steadying breath or two. It felt like trying to recall all the happenings of a particularly long and exciting day- with an added migraine that no pain relief would fix. “Do you need water, boss-man?”

“Yes, Tim, thank you.” He mustered a smile, which Tim returned with a wide grin that immediately bolstered Jon’s spirits somewhat. Tim’s easy acceptance made Jon much more confident he wasn’t simply hallucinating- he supposed much stranger things had happened at this point. This explanation made more sense than anything they had come up with, after all. 

The office was quiet, and he couldn’t hear any other voices as Tim opened the door to fetch water from the sink. The lights were dimmed- it must be late, but Jon couldn’t remember when he’d arrived at the archives, or what day it was. It hurt when he tried to think back too far. He could only see Helen’s face and her smile at his willingness to shake her hand.

“Tim? What time is it?” He called, immediately wincing at the volume of his own voice. An ice-pack would be making its way onto his shopping list. 

“2 am, boss. We were both here working on stuff- well, I was here bothering you while you were working on stuff, it was fun- and then you passed out and then you woke up and now we know what’s going on, so all in all a pretty good night.” Tim knelt to pass Jon the water, then moved to sit next to him, bracing Jon’s shoulder with his own. Jon murmured a thanks and drank greedily from the glass.

“The others-”

“Left at a normal time. Sasha said to come in late tomorrow if you don’t get at least five hours of sleep. Martin said something gross that he can tell you himself because I’m not passing love notes like it’s fourth grade.” Tim softened his teasing words with a grin.

“I think- I might need to sit for a while. You can head home, if you need. I’ll be quite alright.” Jon hammered his point home by sitting more upright, raising himself off of Tim’s shoulder. Tim immediately snorted, shaking his head and carefully slinging an arm around Jon.

“Nooo way, Jon, I’m staying right here until I can drive you home. I don’t know what proper etiquette is after your friend has a weird future vision telepathic dream bullshit thing, but I know ditching them isn’t it. We can listen to a podcast or whatever nerdy thing you do to calm down, alright?” Jon let himself slide back down, leaning heavily into Tim, and his head immediately calming somewhat from the relief of the stress of having to hold itself up. He could still feel the emotions of himself, the other him, the hours and days and weeks of paranoia and loneliness, the loss of Sasha and Tim- but Tim was here, a solid steady warm presence besides him, one that had just promised him that he would stay with him as long as Jon needed. That timeline had not happened. It would not happen. It already had not happened, as he saw Tim’s nearby phone light up with a text from Sasha, punctuated with several heart emojis. 

He had friends, in this timeline, ones he loved. He would fight to keep them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HERE'S PLOT!!!
> 
> if you can't tell, i'm looking to start winding down into an ending pretty soon- if you're looking for a story with no plot holes, this probably isn't it, because this story has been an excuse to found family trope all over the place from day 1 and if you haven't figured that out yet you're in the wrong place. (honestly tho i think i did a pretty good job with plot considering i'm stoned rn and have been for most of the writing of this......... anyway)
> 
> come say hi @diffenbachiae on tumblr and SOMEONE SENT ME AN ASK SAYING THEY DREW FANART??? AND THEN DIDNT SEND IT??? but they wanted my instagram so please if you still want to show me the art i'd love to see it my ig is @elizardbeth12 i would cry if you sent me fanart


	26. cutting things with knives: a love story on fast forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self harm talk, eating disorder talk, talk of homophobia and compulsory heterosexuality, abusive relationships, talk about scars. i think that’s everything but please comment if i need to add something else that i missed
> 
> melanie is my favorite character, and here is my headcanon dump for her. i feel like an affinity for horror/ the supernatural and feeling that ‘othered’ feeling throughout your childhood go hand in hand, which is why i headcanon her as a lesbian who was in the closet for most of her life, and then from there i kind of just projected onto her and her like 3 canon physical appearance traits. my melanie’s appearance is a blend of my own and a childhood friend of mine, so i picture her as hmong and skinny with a black bob (my friend) and with old scars covered partially by tattoos (me), but while i have flowers melanie has only black ink tattoos of horror references, ghost hunting equipment, and different band references (based on a different friend of mine).

Melanie King had grown quite used to being alone.

She had been her entire life- only child, and too sarcastic to hold onto many friends. Her sharp sense of humor won her favor with the adults that surrounded her, their tones always coddling and their words always something among the lines of ‘so bright for her age! what a quick wit!’, but it did not go over as well with school children her own age, and she found herself with not much to keep her company but a stack of horror DVDs and her own imagination. She liked to say in interviews that ‘the rest of the story tells itself’. She liked to leave out how lonely it was, how she grew hard and sharp and angry, how even now any attempt at a close friendship or a relationship usually ended with the other person telling her she needed to work on her communication skills and leaving her. Leaving her again, and again, and again, and then both her parents left her and she really was alone and she collected some physical scars along with the emotional ones and she grew sharper and more determined and more angry with every single one.

It was the same cycle- meet someone. Feel that same fire, a blaze that ate up everything and made her iron heart glow red, and then eventually the fire would eat up everything in its path and the other person would leave and she’d be empty again.

And  _ yeah _ , it wasn’t healthy, and she knew that, but she kind of liked it. She was all sharp angles and always hungry for something, and that kept her going, kept her with a purpose, and she liked that her body started to reflect that, as she missed meals while distracted with video editing and managed to get scratched more times by her cat than anyone else she knew. Then her cat passed away and she stopped bothering with excuses.

The first time she met Georgie Barker’s cat, it was her first time meeting Georgie- they were going to collaborate on a video together, and Georgie had told her she preferred to work at home, inviting her over and ending by giving a warm smile and an invitation to stay for dinner after. Melanie had declined. Her boyfriend at the time was in a band, and she wanted to attend their concert, feel bass thumping in her blood to the point where her head was empty of everything else, and she knew instinctively that she and Georgie would clash. Melanie would say something stupid and hurt Georgie’s feelings, she could tell. She’d done it to countless others, after all, and Georgie was so sweet and pretty and delicate looking, with freckles everywhere and soft curly red hair. Georgie had shrugged and said ‘okay, but definitely next time!’ and Melanie nodded like she had any intention of keeping in touch.

Georgie sent her a couple texts, and she responded to one of them, and quickly established herself as an unreliable texter. The texts became work-related only. Melanie was fine with that. When she and her boyfriend broke up, she stopped responding entirely for a while. She stopped doing much of anything for a while. 

The second time she met Georgie Barker’s cat, it was because Georgie had called her- in a rushed, exasperated tone, she told Melanie her friend had unexpectedly cancelled, and she desperately needed someone to take care of the Admiral for a week, while she was out of town. Melanie, out of sheer need to end the conversation, stumbled out a yes, and could practically feel Georgie beaming through the phone. Georgie texted her the details, greeted her at the door with a  _ hug  _ two days later when Melanie showed up, gave her the keys, and was gone.

Melanie, still in shock from the hug, found herself with a cat staring at her and once again surprised at the sight of how incredibly well-decorated and clean Georgie’s apartment was. Her own apartment had clothes on every available floor, and here Georgie had a whiteboard set up with a regular dusting schedule.

She approached the Admiral slowly. Melanie hadn’t been around a cat in a long time, a few years at least, and she felt that familiar sadness and nostalgia rise up in her as the Admiral reached out his head to nose lightly at her fingertips. She ran a hand over his ears, smushing them down and watching them spring back up. He made a disgruntled face at her, meowing loudly, and hopped down from his perch, stalking away for another busy day of hunting the food dish. Melanie couldn’t help a smile.

Feeding the Admiral went quickly, and she scooped the litter and was done with it, taking care to leave Georgie’s apartment exactly the way she found it. When she was home, she shot a text to Georgie telling her that she locked the door behind her and not to worry. Georgie sent back three texts: a string of thumbs-up and pink hearts, a picture of her at a fancy looking restaurant, and ‘Look how cool my latest haunting is! Help yourself to food at my place, BTW, I think the stuff in the fridge might expire soon :(‘. 

Melanie looked at her own meal- mac and cheese with no butter or milk, just water and powder and noodles. She had misbudgeted for the month, sunk too much into her show, and not left enough money for food. Not the first time she had done so, but she told herself every time it was accidental. Now, however, she envisioned Georgie coming home to flies and mold. She also couldn’t, with good conscience, waste food. And it was already opened, she couldn’t donate it or something.

The next day, the Admiral was clearly missing Georgie- he purred loudly upon Melanie’s arrival, padding over to her expectantly. She knelt down immediately to pet him, not able to resist cooing as he licked her fingers and then head-butted her hand. The Admiral was one of the cuddliest cats Melanie had ever met. Georgie had told her that he wasn’t that way usually, and that Melanie must be special, but she had a sneaking suspicion Georgie said that to everyone.

Melanie almost swooned on opening Georgie’s fridge- it was packed with food, a far cry from Melanie’s own, which held a few Reese's peanut-butter cups and some eggs. Georgie must not have cleaned her fridge often, or gone grocery shopping recently- almost all the produce was on the verge of going bad, and a few things had already gone past the good-by date, although were still usable. Most of it wouldn’t last long, as Georgie had feared, and needed to be used quickly. 

Melanie hadn’t properly  _ cooked _ in quite some time. She had passed the years of when eating like you were in uni was acceptable, but cup noodles were easy and cheap, and eating had never been a pleasurable thing for her. More like an uncomfortable chore that was sometimes necessary. In her adult life, more often than not, there wasn’t money for anything more than ramen without added spices or eggs or vegetables, just powder and noodles, day after day after day. 

She used the first recipe she saw online- Georgie had the ingredients, most of them would go bad soon, it was perfect. Melanie found it much more enjoyable than she expected to cook. It was late evening, and she played music quietly from her phone as she chopped ingredients, tomato and herbs thrown in a pot with noodles and homemade sauce and homemade garlic bread and every ingredient she had daydreamed about but not had the money to use in a year or too. She made much more than she needed, wanting to leave Georgie frozen leftovers when she came back, to justify using her ingredients. 

Melanie found herself, for the first time in a while, missing the presence of someone else. Her last relationship, however terrible, had been the first one in quite a while that had lasted longer than a few months- they’d been together almost a year. By the end of it, she could hardly stand the sight of him. She felt, not for the first time, that there was something broken in her- boyfriend after boyfriend and she never wanted to look at them again after a month or two. She never broke up with them, either, just waited for them to realize the inevitable, that she was simply going through the motions, and they’d realize she was more of a shell than a person. Then they’d start realizing they could do anything to her and she’d stick around, just to feel normal, and she’d get a few more scars but who cared as long as she was a normal girl who liked boys and didn’t feel empty inside when she kissed them- and she was too deep into her thoughts and too distracted and the smell of burning noodles started wafting up to her and she turned off the heat quickly while swearing.

The fire alarm started its incessant beeping in the background, and Melanie swore again, checking to make sure that there wasn’t an actual fire and it was just overwhelmed by the smoke and then quickly popping out the battery. The sound died and she was once again left with nothing but the Regrettes playing quietly and her own thoughts.

Less than five minutes later, her phone lit up with a Facetime call- Georgie was calling her, and Melanie questioned how possible it was on a scale of one to ten that Georgie was psychic. She entertained the notion of more improbable things on a daily basis, but she told herself it was impossible that Georgie knew she was getting perilously close to burning down her apartment by testing her terrible cooking skills. She would replace the pot and no one would be the wiser and she would cook at home from now on. Melanie picked up the call.

“Melanie! My smart home system thing- it just went off, said the fire alarm went off- are you okay? What happened?” Georgie’s face was panicked in the tiny screen, and Melanie cursed every person responsible for making cell phone technology. Used to be way easier to get away with stuff.

“I’m so sorry- your apartment is fine, I promise, I was just trying to cook but I’m a lot more out of practice than I thought.” She attempted a smile, and held the phone up to show Georgie the unscathed kitchen, and the Admiral from where he sat on a kitchen chair.

“Okay, but are you okay?” Georgie asked, urgently. Melanie nodded, and the relief on Georgie’s face was obvious. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay, and so’s the Admiral. What were you cooking?”

Melanie was immediately taken aback. She had expected anger- Georgie had moved on so quickly. She stuttered out her answer.

“Just- just pasta, with homemade sauce. I’ll freeze some for you, for when you get back.”

“Aw, thanks love!” Georgie smiled brightly at the camera, then turned to briefly speak to someone out of frame. Melanie was thankful for it, as it meant Georgie hopefully didn’t spot any of the blush on her face. “That’s so sweet of you. Use whatever you want, I mean it, I’m terrible with eating out instead of cooking so I end up letting stuff spoil all the time on accident. Empty that fridge if you want.”

“I’m not sure I can go through the amount of food in that fridge in a week!” Melanie glanced at the tiny portion of her bowl she’d eaten, and reminded herself that she couldn’t waste Georgie’s food. She’d have to finish at least one portion of the pasta.

“Well then you can keep coming over and we’ll cook together when I get back, okay?” Georgie asked, looking a bit distracted, and then turned her full attention back to Melanie. “Sorry- I have to go. Getting to optimal spooky filming time, you know? Talk to you tomorrow? Bye love, sweet dreams!” 

The call cut off before Melanie could say anything in response, and her music resumed. This time, it was accompanied by the quiet purring of the Admiral, who had wormed his way into Melanie’s lap. She took bites of her pasta in between running a hand down his back, calmed by the repetitive motion of smoothing down his fur, and before she had realized it she had finished the bowl.

Georgie had not said ‘talk to you tomorrow’ out of habit, as Melanie assumed. At around 8 the next day, her phone rang again as she was sitting in Georgie’s living room, trying to decide if her hunger would overpower her guilt in eating Georgie’s food. 

Georgie looked beautiful, pink eyeshadow and glitter and a bright yellow headband holding her curls back, and she told Melanie excitedly that they could cook together, and once again Melanie didn’t have enough breath in her after seeing Georgie to argue. Georgie texted her a recipe with another string of heart emojis and they stayed on the line for an hour, occasionally picking up a conversation but more often in a comfortable silence, both rushing around the kitchen to keep multiple dishes going. 

Georgie called her three different pet names during the call. Melanie kept track easily because each time she felt a different sort of warmth swell in her heart than she usually felt. She’d never even considered having feelings for women- her parents were traditional, and she had already disappointed them in so many ways- she definitely wasn’t the pretty perfect daughter they had hoped for, all scars and tattoos and dark lipstick, but now they were gone, and she certainly hadn’t seen their ghosts. Had been haunted by them, sure, but hadn’t gotten any EMF readings. 

Georgie was pretty in a way that made Melanie’s heart feel sore, and she couldn’t deal with what that could mean yet, so she stuffed it down and focused on how Georgie made her want to text someone throughout the day for the first time. She was straight. This was just friendship. This was friendship, finally, and she wouldn’t examine any thoughts that could jeopardize the warm feeling that filled her heart when she was around Georgie.

The calls continued. Every night, right around dinner-time, she got a call from Georgie, and they would cook together, and Melanie found her voice more and more. Georgie actually sounded interested, as they talked and laughed about everything from shared work experiences to interesting haunting stories to what music they listened to. The comfortable silences became even more comfortable. Melanie found herself checking her phone often and sometimes even texting Georgie first, pictures of the Admiral or snippets of her day. 

And then Georgie came back, and they cooked together in person for the first time.

Melanie had expected it to be awkward, and it wasn’t. Georgie played music on a bright pink record player, swaying to the rhythm of some lofi song Melanie had never heard before, and she tried to avoid eye contact as Georgie’s oversized t shirt slipped down and revealed more of Georgie’s collarbone than it normally did, and then Georgie changed the music to an old Panic! album and Melanie couldn’t resist singing along and then Georgie was close to her face and leaning in and Melanie took a step back and knocked her head against the cabinet.

“I’m sorry, I’m- I’m not- I’m not gay.” Melanie managed to get out, turning bright red, and Georgie was turning even more red, matching her hair and shaking her head and already apologizing profusely.

“I’m sorry, I thought- I should’ve asked first, I- I guess I should’ve been more obvious with my feelings, I kind of thought this was a date-” She looked upset, gesturing with her hands as her face continued to turn more red, and Melanie mustered a smile.

“It’s fine, really- I think I’m just oblivious. It’s okay.” The Admiral curled around her ankles and Melanie had never been more grateful for an excuse to break eye contact in her life. She knelt down, kissing the Admiral’s head, and was able to genuinely smile at Georgie’s muttered ‘fuck!’ as she remembered they had been cooking something and rushed back to the stove.

The rest of the evening was awkward, but not overwhelmingly so, just with less comfortable silences than normal. Melanie couldn’t stop thinking to herself- this was it, the moment she’d be alone again. It might have set a record for the shortest friendship she’d had.

At the end of the night, Georgie paused, stopping before opening the door to the hallway.

“Melanie- can we be friends, still? I really like talking to you- I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” She looked earnest, and she was chewing on her lip lightly, and Melanie’s heart clenched. She didn’t understand why she felt like she was lying to Georgie. She was straight. She’d only ever dated men. Her parents would be so upset if they knew she’d had any thoughts otherwise. 

She had a flash, for a moment, of what it would be like to step forward and kiss Georgie- how soft she’d be. How it would feel to put her hands on the small of Georgie’s back, or to stroke her hair, or to cup her cheek.

The thoughts became overwhelming quickly, and she tore herself away from the mental image. Later. She’d think about it- later. There was a real Georgie, right in front of her, and she needed her to know that she desperately would miss her in her life. It had only been a week, but she already felt spoiled by Georgie’s consistent presence. It was so different from the more recent relationships and friendships she’d had, all the mean spirited teasing and competitive and sometimes traumatizing experiences. Georgie had never yelled at her. Had never- hit her.

“Of course. Friends.” Melanie said, and Georgie held out her arms, and this time Melanie was prepared and stepped into a tight hug. 

When Melanie got home, she texted Georgie to tell her she was home safe, and then she pulled out her phone and closed her bedroom door and felt uncomfortably like a teenager once again tentatively Googling things to try and understand the world as she started to research.

She was 26, and after three hours of internet research, she felt like she might finally understand parts of herself for the first time.

She had kept herself purposely ignorant, and Melanie thought a part of herself might have known that when she learned she couldn’t go back. Reading articles written by others like her, LGBT Hmong kids who had grown up thinking they were alone in the world- people who looked and felt like her. Even when they didn’t look like her, there were lesbians who’d had the same experiences, trying to force feelings that would never come- there were words for what she felt, and a label that fit her. She started to see a different future, after a few weeks of researching. One where she didn’t force herself into a role that didn’t fit.

And then Sarah Baldwin happened- Georgie and her had been keeping in somewhat regular contact but she’d been distancing herself on purpose, needing time to process and examine the feelings that flooded her when she thought about if she’d returned Georgie’s attempted kiss. If she’d realized it was a date. So there were work related recommendations only, and Melanie trusted Georgie’s opinion more than anyone’s anyway. 

Melanie had been cooking, more and more. She had let herself, with some trepidation, purchase knives. She hadn’t held one in quite a while. She’d thrown all of her sharp objects into a box and locked it. 

They had been used only for food. She sliced cheese and bread and started to bake more regularly, now that she had more energy, now that she wasn’t alone, and as she ate more regularly she began to feel less empty. 

When she saw Sarah peel her skin, Melanie got such a strong sense of deja-vu she thought she might throw up. Her vision swam with gaping wounds and she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, and she couldn’t stop seeing it swim behind her eyelids, day after day. She decided to give a statement at the Magnus Institute. To ease her mind.

Jonathan Sims surprised her. He chuckled a bit at an obscure reference she made, and a month ago she would’ve ignored it, but now she figured if this man believed her maybe he was worth talking to and asked if he’d seen any other horror movies. After discovering a shared interest, the conversation progressed much smoother, and Melanie found herself leaving much happier than when she had arrived. She had texted Georgie about the encounter, and she had seemed very excited that they had gotten along. 

Melanie cooked when she got home, carefully setting aside extra to take to Georgie’s somewhat soon, and replaced her knives carefully back in the knife block when she was done using them to cook. She felt calmer than she had in a long time, and ate slowly, watching a television show she and Georgie liked to livetext together. There were no images of Sarah Baldwin floating before her eyes.

An application to work at the Magnus Institute arrived in the mail a week or two later, and Melanie seriously considered it for a short while before scrapping it in favor of focusing on her YouTube channel. A recent video had blown up and now she was much busier than she had been, along with her added research and increasing skepticism of her beloved ghost-hunting industry. She’d dedicated much of her life to it, and was only now realizing that she had only gone to spots others had already covered over and over? This seemed to be a time for rapid realizations, ones that left her rattled, and she was thankful for the constant presence of Georgie, checking in with her every once and a while by sending a meme or a song recommendation. Melanie didn’t respond often, but she listened to the songs, and tried to figure out her conflicting feelings when they had any sort of romance involved in the lyrics. She’d realized so much about herself- but Georgie was not the type to wait around for other people to get their feelings together. She’d probably already moved on from Melanie, since their relationship had become strictly platonic. Even though Melanie’s regrets about that evening- that  _ date _ \- were growing by the day.

Melanie began to backslide when she began her research on war ghosts in earnest, and threw herself into her new obsession. She began to text Georgie less and less, and Georgie in turn gave her space. She began to carry a knife on her. She wasn’t sure if it would help anything but it felt good to have that physical way to protect herself. She, for once, had no urges of using it on herself. That felt good too- that knowledge that she was done hurting herself.

Apparently, that meant things would now hurt her, and she found herself once again in Georgie’s apartment- a different one, this time, she had moved recently, but it was decorated much the same- for yet another Admiral cuddle session, this time avoiding using one arm to avoid aggravating the stab wound. She was almost peeved she’d have another scar, but at the same time- this was an excuse to get another coverup tattoo.

She had shown up on Georgie’s doorstep unexpectedly, but was surprised at the strength of Georgie’s smile. She had once again expected Georgie to be angry and was once again surprised by Georgie’s kindness, by how gentle she was even when upset. Georgie had never scared her, never needed to show off how easily Melanie could be intimidated like some of her past boyfriends had. 

Melanie couldn’t fool herself with the strength of her feelings anymore. She was so used to labeling love as this sharp hurting feeling that when it came in a different form it took a while to recognize it, but she had replayed that night so many times and thought so often of how differently it would have gone if it had ended with a kiss. She needed to know, now that she had realized and figured out her own feelings- she needed to know if Georgie still liked her, was still interested, wanted to be more than just friends. 

She spent the night, in Georgie’s oversized clothes, sprawled out on the couch with the Admiral settled onto her back. Georgie sat in an armchair nearby, no makeup and dark circles and looking as beautiful as Melanie had ever seen her, hair down and framing her face and the TV illuminating her soft smile when she glanced over at Melanie. 

They both fell asleep in the living room, Georgie making a show of stretching out her tired back when she woke up, and Melanie resisting the urge to offer a massage or some other cliche bullshit excuse to be close to her. 

Late afternoon sun was spilling into the room, they both had slept much too long, and Jon had texted both of them, saying he was on his way to discuss what had happened to Melanie. More paranormal Michael spookiness. Melanie had groaned- Jon was the type to worry, from what she had gathered, and she hated being worried over. 

But they made it through the whole interaction, and afterwards when Jon and Martin were asleep they cooked together. Georgie showed off some flashy trick she had learned, one where she flipped a knife, and Melanie gave an exaggerated reaction like she knew Georgie wanted, giggling with her, and then Georgie was close to her again, and she reached out to take the hand with no knife in it. Georgie’s hand was warm and had nails painted a bright pink, and she squeezed Melanie’s hand instinctively and put the knife down on the counter, swiveling to look up at Melanie. It seemed obvious to both of them that the mood had suddenly shifted to take on a more serious tone.

“So, um. I guess- this is me- coming out? To you.” Melanie started, and Georgie smiled softly, giving an encouraging nod. Her hands in Melanie’s own were filling her with quiet confidence. “Well. I’m a lesbian. And I’ve realized- I returned your feelings, during our first date. I have feelings. For you. Georgie. Sorry.” The confidence was fading by the moment, and Georgie laughed, immediately covering her mouth with one hand.

“Sorry! Sorry. Not laughing at you, just- why are you apologizing?” Her eyes were kind and Melanie couldn’t stop staring at her eyelashes and her glitter eyeliner and everything about her was so undoubtedly  _ Georgie _ . 

“I don’t know, but- that night, I wish I could’ve changed it, and if there’s any chance you still-”

“I do. Let’s change it?” Georgie asked, and Melanie stepped forward, slipping her arms around Georgie’s waist, and Georgie leaned up and kissed her.

A month later, her next tattoo would be a knife- a chef’s knife, neatly covering the scar on her shoulder with thick shading. Georgie would trace her fingers across it, when it was healed, and gently place a kiss to where the scar was hidden. They cooked together most nights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter’s dedicated to nadia who wanted what the girlfriends content! 
> 
> yeah maybe i retconned some stuff bc i wanted to write this specific plot and wanted it to fit with this fic. prove it. u cant. so there. 
> 
> anyway i rly hope you guys like this, it was very personal for me to write- the love story in particular is based off of me and my first girlfriend, which was the first time i was in love. i tried really hard to capture that feeling of rightness when you finally realize what's missing, and how everything seems to fit perfectly into place after that. i also incorporated some experiences that aren't mine, but a hmong friend of mine's, and as a white writer i hope i portrayed their experiences accurately and respectfully. i think diversity in writing is important, but sometimes since i haven't lived these things myself i make mistakes, and i'm always willing to quickly go back and edit if i mess anything up or if i misrepresent anyone's experiences! just know i try my best to learn & research


	27. sasha continues to be the only one to get shit done (queen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this doesn’t rly have anything to do with this chapter but i wanted to put it somewhere- i don’t have many strong gender/sexuality headcanons but in this fic martin and georgie are trans, melanie is a lesbian, jon is asexual, and tim and sasha are both bi. other than that interpret it however you want
> 
> i've given up playing my own game of buzz with the chapter titles because i keep losing and it's just sad at this point so it's back to lizzie's regularly scheduled chapter titles

“So let me see if I’m getting all this,” Sasha said, for the fifth time, sitting on top of a desk and swinging her legs back and forth, a pencil balanced precariously behind her ear. Tim sat in a chair nearby, narrowly avoiding getting kicked by her swinging feet and looking severely sleep-deprived. “Jon, you had a servant of the Spiral visit you in your dreams, and it hurt a lot.”

“Yes. That’s the easy part,” Jon sighed, his head cradled in his hands, and Sasha made a valiant attempt to remind herself that Jon was in a lot of pain and not being snippy just to be snippy. He and Tim had stayed overnight in the Archives, Jon’s migraines ebbing and flowing but never to a low enough point he felt able to survive a car ride without at least one vomit-related incident.

“Just making sure I’ve got everything. So the servant’s name is Helen, and she replaced Michael, and she’s new but she can already tell something got messed up. Something Michael did, and the- future you? Alternate you?” She paused here, wondering to herself if the distinction was worth spending time picking apart, and Jon gave a noncommittal shrug. “Alright. Other you. Something Michael and Other You did, and you’re pretty sure what Other You did was step through one of Michael’s doors, which you aren’t supposed to do, but Other You didn’t have any of us and was desperate, because we had all died, and Other You had accidentally caused- the apocalypse?”

“That seems to be the gist of it,” Jon muttered, hands still over his eyes, and this was finally enough to snap Sasha out of her excitement over finally getting somewhere explanation-wise. She exchanged a look with Tim.

“Have you tried medication? Advil, Excedrin- we have an ice pack somewhere, I’m sure,” she started, standing up and making her way to the first aid kit, but Jon shook his head before she could grab it.

“We’ve been here all night, Sasha. Trust me, I think we’ve tried all available options. Short from cutting my head off.” He offered, dryly, and Tim snorted. 

“When Martin gets back, he’s on babysitting-Jon-while-he-sleeps duty, in case he gets another spooky dream.” Tim was noticeably exhausted- his ever-present slight dimple had vanished, and Sasha took one of his hands, running her thumb over the back of his palm. It must have taken a while, to calm Jon down, and then to attempt to take care of him through a migraine- it sent Jon right back to pre-friendship levels of prickliness, and that wasn’t easy to deal with when you had Tim’s patience.

She wanted so desperately to start picking apart every piece of what Jon had seen, but it was easy to see he was in no state to. Sasha wished, not for the first time, that it had been her receiving these visions- maybe it was the oldest-sister bossy side of her, but she had the nagging feeling everything would have gone so much  _ faster _ if she had been in charge. 

They spent a few minutes in a semi-comfortable silence- Sasha deep in thought, fidgeting absent-mindedly with Tim’s hands, Tim half drifting off and every once in a while starting back to consciousness, and Jon either pinching the bridge of his nose or glancing at the door, before Martin finally made his way back to the Archives. He was out of breath, looking like he had rushed there and back, and carrying a bulging grocery bag.

“I got Benadryl, Nyquil, melatonin- something will put you to sleep, I’m sure.” Martin announced, proudly, and immediately stopped short when he caught sight of the state Jon was in, dropping to his knees next to him. Jon immediately let his head fall onto Martin’s shoulder. 

“You aren’t mixing those, right? Try  _ one _ thing to see if it works, don’t let him chug Nyquil.” Sasha warned. Jon shot her an irritated look with no real heat behind it, and even that faded immediately as Martin began gently running his fingers through Jon’s hair and his eyes fluttered shut. 

Tim stood, letting go of Sasha’s hand, and yawned as dramatically as he possibly could.

“Okay- boss-man is taken care of, which means I have the right to pass out for as long as I want to. I will see all of you in 3-5 business days,” he announced, leaned down to kiss Sasha quickly, and strode out of the room. Sasha was left feeling uncomfortably like a third wheel. She’d have to apologize to Martin, if this is what he had put up with when Tim and Sasha were flirting nonstop.

This left her at a bit of a loss. She wanted to discuss new developments like she and Jon would usually hold their academic discussions, but it seemed no one in the Archives was currently up to holding a conversation, let alone plan or discuss. Luckily, they had recently come up with a solution. 

**sasha created the group ‘competency’**

_ basira _ : Finally, a groupchat I can get behind.

_ georgie _ : Wait, did you make a groupchat without any of the boys?

_ sasha: _ not intentionally, but that’s certainly how it ended up

_ sasha _ : anyway 

_ sasha _ : the boys are busy and i want to have a team meeting about jon’s newest visions

_ sasha _ : are any of you free?

_ melanie _ : me + g are @ her apmt

_ melanie _ : meet there?

Georgie looked less peeved than Sasha had imagined to have her apartment turn into an impromptu home base, aside from the Archives, as she cheerily greeted Sasha and welcomed her in. 

Her apartment was so overwhelmingly Georgie- clean, beautifully decorated, the Admiral flopped on a nearby cushion amongst tall bookshelves and comfortable looking couches and chairs. It was a space made for hosting. These probably weren’t the people she was expecting to host. 

Basira was intently scanning book titles, and Melanie was cooking something in the kitchen, scents wafting into the living room. Sasha took a seat near Basira, who gave her a smile and went back to her books. 

“So. Fill us in, Sasha?” Georgie asked, scooping the Admiral into her arms and falling backwards into the nearest armchair. Her hair was falling in loose curls around her face, mussed from some recent activity, and Sasha tactfully avoided mentioning that she had a smudge of black lipstick visible on the corner of her mouth. 

“Jon had more visions- you guys have all been filled in about the avatars of fear and all that, right?” Sasha glanced around the room and was glad to see mostly nods. Step one was to make sure they were all on the same page. 

It didn’t take long to explain the rest either. From what they had been able to piece together, it seemed Jon’s visions were of the future- and in the future, things had gone very wrong. Apocalyptic wrong. Not only had Sasha died, but then Tim as well, and then Martin in the end, and Jon was the only one of their original group left. Michael had told him to step through one of his doors. Other Jon (Future Jon? Alternate Jon?) was out of options. He didn’t know what it would do, so he tried it, and according to Helen- it wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Other Jon and Michael had messed something up, somehow, according to her, but they had no idea what, or how to fix it. 

“Certainly doesn’t seem messed up from my perspective. Could just be me, but I prefer the non-apocalyptic world.” Georgie piped up, and Sasha shrugged.

“No argument here- I much prefer being alive than having my identity snatched, thank you very much, but I do hate not knowing things,” she responded, glancing around. 

“Seconded. Is there a way we can contact Helen? Get more information?” Basira asked, surprising Sasha- Basira had been staring off into space so long, she’d thought she wasn’t listening. 

“We can ask Jon, maybe, or I can do research on different statements involving the Spiral. You all are welcome to help.” Sasha fiddled with the end of her braid as she spoke, resisting the urge to chew on it like she would as a child. This was all quite frightening, sure, and she wasn’t exactly  _ excited _ about Jon having possibly messed up the laws of time or whatever bull he did by stepping through a door, but she finally got to  _ do  _ something- she had actual tangible leads, people to help her, more to go off of than a vague nonsensical vision. 

Melanie took this moment to step into the room, holding a knife in one hand and a bowl of steaming pasta in the other. Basira shot a glance at Sasha, who attempted to hide a grin- Melanie’s lipstick was smeared, and there was a suspicious dark purple mark half-hidden under the high collar of her shirt. It seemed more than one happy new couple was in need of congratulations.

“I don’t have any filming to do this week- I’ll have time to help, probably, if you need someone to sort through bullshit statements with you.” She offered, twirling the knife effortlessly, and from the corner of her eye Sasha could see Basira’s impressed small smile. She took a second to savor the feeling of not being surrounded by men, and being surrounded by badass women instead.

“Sounds perfect.” Sasha beamed at Melanie, who returned her smile a bit more hesitantly. There was a bit of a pause before anyone broke the silence.

“Wine, anyone?” Georgie offered, and the night progressed from there. Sasha found that she and Georgie had the same taste in music, and that Melanie had seen her favorite horror movie. Basira made her laugh so hard at one point she snorted wine out of nose and onto Georgie’s coffee table- Georgie had immediately pulled paper towel out of a drawer Sasha hadn’t even noticed, and Melanie teased her about starving all the mice in her apartment by not leaving crumbs, and then the wine started to settle into a hazy pink daze and her memories of the night grew much less sharp.

The next morning, Sasha slid into her desk chair, took three Advil to try and nip the hangover headache in the bud, and placed a new Polaroid carefully onto her desk- it was Melanie holding the camera, half of her smile visible and a dangly ghost earring barely in frame, with Georgie right behind her, her arms around Melanie’s waist. In the background, Basira was bent in conversation with Sasha- she had just managed to make Basira laugh, and was looking very proud of herself. At the bottom of the photo, Melanie had scribbled a doodle of a ghost and a few hearts. Georgie had added ‘new friends!’ with a sparkly pink heart sticker, and Basira had simply signed her name.

Sasha accepted the tea Martin handed her, and pulled out a notebook. There was research to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit running out of time to post this before work uhhhh next chapter will be longer just wanted to get this one out of my drafts so its kinda choppy and unedited, but if i waited to post it it would’ve taken like 3 weeks so i figured you guys would rather just read it now. hopefully the plot makes sense. if it doesn’t, well it doesn’t really matter all that much anyway, and i’m not going to fix it, so idk why i’m typing this all out. anywayyyyyy
> 
> ur all wonderful and i hope youre having a lovely day thank u for reading & putting up with my author’s note bullshit <3
> 
> & please comment ur opinions and thoughts and whatever i LOVE reading ur guys feedback 
> 
> and my tumblr is @diffenbachiae come be my friend


	28. gratuitous sappiness for a rough week

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it just me, or did everyone have like? a super hard week? i don't know about you guys, but i needed to sit down and write something sappy, and this felt good. plus that mighty vibes livestream the critical role team put out yesterday was perfect background music. so here's something gratuitously sappy in case you had a week as long and tiring as mine. with bonus tim characterization bc my boy has been neglected POV wise.

Tim Stoker was fucking  _ angry _ .

He was angry a lot, if he was being honest with himself, was no stranger to the feeling of heat rising in his veins. Usually he was able to calm himself down, or he’d see Sasha and all the anger would evaporate at the sight of her smile, or he just ran and ran and ran until he didn’t have any energy to be mad and would simply fall exhausted into a dreamless sleep. 

Tim was the master of going too far. Too loud, too talkative, too quick to react, too emotional, too traumatized to put up with for too long- and then Sasha came along, and then Martin, and then Jon, and it turned out there were people in the world just as fucked up and traumatized as he was. Even then, he’d almost gone too far with each of them, countless times, when his ever-present heat simmered up and his jokes turned mean and his pranks turned hurtful and he could sense himself burning and couldn’t make it stop.

This was a different sort of anger. This wasn’t his usual heat- this was an icy sick sort of anger, the kind where you’re looking at someone you care about and they’re hurting, hurting  _ badly _ , and you can’t do a thing to stop it.

He couldn’t put a finger on it, exactly, when he started becoming so fiercely protective of Jon. Martin was a different case, everyone was protective of Martin, you couldn’t really help that, but Jon and he had butted heads so many times Tim had given up any sort of friendly relationship with the man, for quite some time- and then Jon began having visions, and then Sasha befriended him, and Tim’s usual method for who to trust was watching Sasha, so it snowballed from there. 

And now Jon was hurting. The two of them had spent the entire night in the Archives, and Tim was helpless to do absolutely anything but murmur words he thought sounded like something Sasha would say and try and rub gentle circles onto Jon’s back and watch someone he cared about  _ hurt _ in a way that he couldn’t do anything about.

It was infuriating, but Tim wasn’t burning. This smoke was all dry ice, cold and encompassing everything and making Tim’s heart clench and twist even as Martin arrived and Jon was no longer in his care. He was exhausted, and angry, and he continued to be exhausted and angry right up until the next day, when the clock hit 8 and he rolled into work and Jon was nowhere to be seen.

Melanie was there, to his surprise, chatting quietly with Sasha, and he could spot Georgie inside Jon’s office, rummaging around in a drawer. Martin was also noticeably absent, and Tim was no idiot. It was bad enough, still, that Jon couldn’t even come into work, and everything was fucked up and messy now, and Tim couldn’t do pretty much anything about it. 

He sat down heavily in his chair, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Sasha without reacting, and pulling out a statement he’d been working on. Sasha, because she was the embodiment of everything good in the world, took a moment to slip her arms around him from behind and rest her head on his shoulder. Tim took a second just to breathe her in- honeysuckle and shea butter and unmistakably Sasha. The tightly-wound frustration in his chest uncoiled, just a bit.

Melanie tossed a pencil at him. They’d established something of a schoolyard-bickering type relationship, one both of them relished with almost childish enthusiasm, and Tim normally would’ve happily engaged in a morning spent throwing either taunts or objects back and forth across the room, but today he simply sent a glare with no real heat behind it. He was too tired. He was too angry.

She huffed a sigh at his lack of response, grabbing another pencil from Martin’s desk and beginning to fidget with it. “What’s got you in a mood, Tim? Lost without your fearless leader?” 

“Melanie, are we playing nice?” Georgie asked mildly as she emerged from Jon’s office, holding a bottle of migraine medication. Melanie shot her a smile, immediately standing up and slinging an arm around Georgie’s shoulders. 

“Is that for Jon? Is he doing alright?” Tim asked, attempting to sound casual, and Sasha adjusted her chair to be situated next to Tim, reaching out and slipping her hand into his under the desk. Georgie nodded, a smile that was probably supposed to be comforting on her face. Tim did not feel very comforted. 

“Better. Headache is still lingering, but he kept food down, so that’s progress. He said to say he hopes ‘the work day goes smoothly’, instead of saying hi like a normal person, and that he’ll be back by tomorrow.” Her teasing words were evened by her affectionate smile as she spoke about Jon. 

“Only if he’s actually better, have Martin make sure,” Sasha piped up, and Georgie laughed. 

“Sounds like a plan. See you later!” Melanie tossed a wave over her shoulder as she followed Georgie out of the Archives, and then Tim and Sasha were alone in the Archives, and he turned to bury his face in Sasha’s shoulder, in her familiar worn mustard-coloured sweater. 

She hummed slightly in response, her hand coming up to bury itself in Tim’s hair, rubbing gentle circles. It was surreal to him, sometimes, how far they’d come, how comfortable they were with each other now. They seemed to fit like puzzle pieces. 

“Alright, Tim?” She asked quietly, and he nodded best he could with his forehead pressed to her shoulder.

“Fine. Fine. Mad, but fine. You can’t fight a headache.” He muttered, his tone tired, and she huffed a slight laugh.

“You’d be one to try. Jon will be fine, he’ll be back tomorrow, we’ll figure out all the mysteries to making this timeline or whatever go perfectly, and everyone will be happy and safe.” Sasha’s tone was soft and she punctuated her words by pressing a light kiss to the side of Tim’s face she could reach with him so close to her. 

The icy hot frustration in him was fading somewhat with her words, her easy reassurance that Jon would be back well as ever tomorrow, and they could return to joking with Martin and trying to make Jon smile at one of their dumb jokes and slowly befriending Melanie and Georgie and Basira. Tim hadn’t had much luck with Basira, yet, but he was sure it was only a matter of time before he found the pun to crack her tough exterior.

He raised his head, meeting her eyes and leaning in to kiss her, pulling away with a smile on his lips. Sasha returned it brightly, and he was hit again by how beautiful she was and that he was allowed this, allowed to be so close to her brightness. He felt like he should be scorched by it. 

“Thanks.” Tim said, quietly, and she kissed his cheek, then pushed her chair away slightly, kicking her legs as she did so and swinging her floral Docs in the air. 

“Okay! Now I have work to do! Not all of us are slackers, Tim.” Sasha raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned in response, giving her a mock salute.

“Ouch, babe. Will get to work right away.” 

  
  
  


“Martin.” 

Martin paused where he was, halfway out of the room- he had thought Jon asleep, he had been so still, his hand limp in Martin’s. He hadn’t wanted to accidentally disturb him.

“Jon?” He asked, quietly, and Jon sat up in bed, his hair hanging almost past his ears now in a dark mussed tangle. The morning sun made its stubborn way past the blinds and curtains to cast strips of light onto him.

“Where- where‘re you going?” His words were so coated with exhaustion they were slurred and Martin was helpless to it, immediately stepping back towards Jon, who held out his arms in an almost childlike fashion. Martin sat besides Jon, pulling him close and his head into Martin’s lap in a fluid motion and beginning to run his hands through his hair, combing it. Jon looked up at him for a moment before letting his eyes close, and Martin waited for him to fall back into sleep for a long moment before Jon spoke.

“I’m- very glad. To have you.” He got out, in an awkward manner, and Martin could hear the earnestness in Jon’s tone. It wasn’t natural, for Jon. Expressing emotions through words.

“I’m very glad to be with you.” Martin offered in response, and was gratified to see Jon’s smile. 

Martin had never dared dream of anything like this for quite some time. It was never even a remote possibility, with how cold Jon was to him in the beginning, and not for the first time Martin was grateful for whatever chain of events had led him to this. Had led him to friendship, to this relationship with Jon, to the people he now considered family to him. It was a sappy sort of morning, apparently, but how could it not be with Jon looking up at him like that and saying sweet things. 

His phone lit up, nearby, and he spared it a single glance before leaning over and sliding it onto the rug on the floor with a satisfying thud. Whatever it was, there were more important things. It was his turn to ignore his phone for a bit.

**scooby gang ?!? grouptext, 8:49 am**

_ basira _ : Had coffee with Helen this morning. She’s quite nice, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEN SOME PLOT AT THE END THAT I'M EXCITED ABOUT. 
> 
> this story is winding to an end but.... there will probably be a 'oneshots set in the i see us au' sequel which will be SUPER FUN to write.


	29. i wrote this chapter while listening to a self-help podcast and it shows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so i was watching the powerpuff girls for the first time and the red devil dude sounds so much like michael??? and it reminded me that it's been a month since i updated this. i legitimately thought it had been like a week or two. oops
> 
> anyway i stopped listening to TMA after episode like 140 i think so i'm not caught up and i honestly don't want to bother relistening to it (that adhd feel when you're obsessed with smth for months and then suddenly... you no longer give a shit) so if anything is way off of canon that's probably why

Helen didn’t know how to put words to the feeling inside her head.

It  _ hurt _ , that much was obvious, but it hurt in a way she hadn’t experienced before. It didn’t strike her as a very human sort of pain. She could see so much, images from a future she hadn’t lived and a past she wasn’t familiar with, and it warped her vision in a dizzying spiral of colors and movement- a kaleidoscope of half-realized memories and even fuzzier predictions. Helen took a brief moment to watch this array of lights, her own personal fireworks show, and almost missed what Basira had been repeating patiently for her.

Oh. It seemed Basira was pointing some sort of weapon at her as well. That was probably fair.

“What do you want?” Basira repeated, her eyes sharp and appraising. If Helen wasn’t Helen, she’d be very intimidated- everything about Basira read ‘do not mess with me’.

“I have no intentions of hurting you,” Helen offered, in her most reassuring tone. Basira did not look convinced. Her hand remained steady and determined, and Helen took yet another moment to think of how useless her defenses would be if Helen did actually want to hurt her. 

They were outside a coffee shop- not exactly the most surreptitious place for a meeting- but Basira had happened to be sitting there and Helen had happened to notice. The amount of actual happenstance that led to the meeting was minimal. 

“I’m not quite sure how to convince you I’m only here to talk,” Helen admitted, thinking the direct approach must be best, and adding a slight smile to accompany her words. It seemed like a human, comforting thing to do. Basira’s posture seemed to soften slightly at Helen’s open admission.

“I still don’t trust you. I suppose this won’t do much good anyway. Seems like it won’t work against what you are.” Basira lowered her gun, and Helen took it as an invitation to sit down. 

She wasn’t quite sure what she was. Sometimes for brief moments she felt like Helen- lost, confused, terrified at what was happening to her. More often than not, she felt like someone else. Someone in between who she used to be and who she was becoming. She wanted to ask the Eye’s servant if he felt the same- if he could feel his new god consuming him from the inside out- 

Helen was becoming hysterical. Who she was now wasn’t becoming hysterical, and who she was now made steady eye contact with Basira and nodded.

“I’m very- confused,” she replied, hesitating between words as she tried to find the proper ones. “I’d like to help you, though, if you’d do me the favor of helping me in return.”

“I think we may be able to come to an arrangement.” Basira responded, and Helen caught the hint of the beginnings of a smile on her face. Helen Richardson would’ve liked Basira.

Whatever she was now hadn’t quite decided yet.

  
  


It was as close to a normal day as it got in the Archives, considering recent developments. Basira had texted about Helen, and after an hour of her phone buzzing so violently Sasha was worried it would break from the sheer amount of texts flying back and forth in the grouptext, it was decided that they’d meet over the weekend to discuss what this meant for them.

It was an odd group that they’d collected. Sasha wasn’t even sure why everyone had stuck around- her running theory was that lonely people can’t resist joining groups. It’s why she stuck around, after all, and it worked out for her.

Jon’s door was closed- his migraine had lingered as a residual headache, and even the soft sounds of his assistants turning pages had proved too much for him. Martin had provided him with several Advil and he had wasted no time in taking them, a hand over his eyes to shield him from the dim Archives light, and then retreated into his dark cave of an office.

Martin had busied himself making tea in response to this, regardless of the fact that the man who would normally drink it was quite obviously going to be unappreciative in his current state. He had also taken to his fool-proof method for alerting the other Archives staff he was in a less than perfect mood.

“Martin, if you loudly sigh behind me again, I swear I will lose my entire mind.” Tim spun in his chair as he spoke to face Martin, a slightly-broken pen in hand. It leaked a single drop of blue ink as he spoke, and Sasha watched it drip onto his wrist. She resisted the urge to grab a napkin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin sheepishly muttered, turning back to his tea, and Sasha resisted a smile as she watched thoughts pass over Tim. He reacted to each thought like he was having a conversation, and she knew him well enough now she felt she could almost hear it out loud.

“Are you. All right, Martin?” Tim tried again. His second attempt went much better, and Martin sank into his own office chair, letting loose another melancholic sigh as he did so. Sasha hid a smile. 

They were at this new level of friendship, now, that Sasha hadn’t experienced before. She had never been close enough to people to memorize their habits and mannerisms like this, to be able to look at a person and know exactly what they’d say next. It was like this warm thrumming in her heart, whenever she looked at these people, even when they were being ridiculous. She had never felt so attached to a dramatic sigh before, but it was so unmistakably Martin that the sound was almost nostalgic.

“Yes. It’s nothing, really, this is just- stressful. Jon like this and all. I’m worried, and there’s nothing I can do to help.” Martin was visibly drained, his body language reading exhaustion, and Sasha couldn’t help stepping closer and putting a hand on his shoulder. It seemed his sighs were less dramatics than she had thought. He relaxed somewhat immediately under the gentle touch.

Tim rolled his chair across the room, sending him careening towards Martin, and caught himself on a desk to roll to a gentle stop, shoulder-to-shoulder with the other man. There was a beat of silence, and then Martin closed the gap between them to rest his head on Tim’s shoulder for a moment, closing his eyes.

Both of them expected him to speak again. There was a longer silence before Tim chuckled slightly.

“Martin, don’t fall asleep- I’m a rest stop, not a hotel-” Tim shifted, pulling Martin more upright, and Martin sighed again, opening his eyes.

“I’m- sorry. Not sleeping. Just tired. I shouldn’t even be tired. It’s not like I do much.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for another moment, and Tim and Sasha exchanged looks.

“What does that mean, Martin?” Sasha asked, sitting in her own chair and switching her grip to tangle her fingers with Martin’s instead. He squeezed her hand.

“Nothing. Sorry.” 

“It definitely meant something,” Tim said, and then paused as he seemed to think better of his approach. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“No, really, I’m fine. I just miss Jon. Sometimes it feels- better, when I’m with him.” He spared a glance towards Jon’s office door, which remained firmly shut. Sasha rubbed her thumb gently over the back of his hand. 

“Better how?” She asked, probing gently. Sasha loved Martin dearly, like a sibling at this point, and she was all too familiar with his tendency to equate taking care of others with taking care of himself.

“Like- like I’m-” Martin began, looking hesitant, and mumbled the rest under his breath. It sounded suspiciously like ‘worth something’.

“One more time?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. Sasha wondered if he had also heard what Martin said as clearly as she had.

“I don’t know. Like I’m useful.” He repeated, with another sigh, and Sasha let go of his hand to walk to the kettle, beginning to make Martin his own cup of tea. Tim glanced at her, looking slightly panicked that it was apparently falling to him to do the talking in this situation.

“Martin, uh- you don’t need to be useful. That’s not what a relationship is- each person using the other? People aren’t useful because you don’t use people. If you do, you’re a bad person. You don’t need to be- useful.” Tim attempted, looking frustrated the words weren’t coming as smoothly as he’d like them to. Sasha tagged in, talking as she took the kettle off the stove to pour into a nearby sunshine yellow mug.

“We just want you to know that- if you didn’t help around the office? If you were just as lazy as Tim and didn’t do any work and there was never any tea and you never helped clean up? We’d still love you and be your friend. No one wants you around because you’re useful. We want you around because you’re Martin. And I guarantee Jon feels the same way.”

“I’m sorry, the fuck was that middle sentence-” Tim started, and was quickly cut off by Sasha continuing. 

“It’s just- you’re worth everything all on your own. What you do for other people doesn’t impact that. I know a pep talk doesn’t help much, but I’ll keep repeating it as long as you need to hear it.” 

Martin’s face was hard to read, and Sasha hoped desperately she hadn’t made everything he was feeling way worse. She was reassured by his small smile as she handed him the tea she’d been making. 

Tim bumped Martin’s shoulder with his own gently. “We love the tea and shit you do for us, but we’d love you just as much without it. Jon thinks the same.”

“Thanks,” Martin said, softly, and immediately took a gulp of tea to hide his face, wincing at the heat.

“Remember? We take care of each other.” Sasha stated firmly, and let herself drop back into her chair. They’d never had mini-therapy sessions at her old job. Apparently a couple near-death experiences really make for some workplace bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE U GO!!!! martin therapy session. i love 1 boy. 
> 
> i hope you guys liked this, i wish i had a longer chapter to make up for the wait but i'm still really busy and probably will be for a while. i promise one day i will finish this fic!! probably soon tbh


	30. hey i don’t think jon has suffered enough in this AU. how do i fix that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to my first acid trip last weekend
> 
> tw for body horror, blood, unreality, hallucinations, worms, unintentional self harm, basically most of the chapter are descriptions of terrifying hallucinations and a few people have commented that it’s more intense than they expected so please be warned it’s pretty graphic 
> 
> gotta throw in some angst for that sweet sweet fluff afterwards

Jon woke up with no trace of a migraine.

It took him a moment to notice. He woke up groggy and confused, shapes swimming hazily in and out of focus, and rubbed the bridge of his nose to chase away pain that was no longer there. He held a hand over his eyes to block out sun that wouldn’t make him wince, and rolled over to the side of the bed that no one would be on.

“Jon- ow, watch it,” Martin murmured, waving a hand half-heartedly at Jon and then flopping over to face away from him. After a beat of silence, in which Jon thought Martin had quickly dozed back off to sleep, Martin wriggled backwards and pressed himself against Jon’s chest. He buried a hand in Martin’s hair in response, stroking slowly as he let himself adjust.

He was in Martin’s flat, the dark bedroom familiar yet still strange enough to leave him disoriented in the early morning gloom. Jon waited slowly for his eyes to sharpen and his mind to wake up- and noticed a flutter of movement in the window.

A bird, probably. Martin had a small feeder, attached to the glass with suction-cups, and he would lay on the carpet for entire lazy afternoons watching them. Jon could never understand this, preferring to surround himself with two sources of stimulus at any given time- if he was reading, he wanted background noise, if he was thinking, it was best when someone else was talking. Martin was different- Martin was calmer. He thought it was frustrating, once upon a time. He thought differently now.

Another slight flurry of movement. This one Jon caught, just slightly- for a moment, he could see it pause and sharpen into a semi-circle. A crescent moon, opening down. Or perhaps a winking eye.

The buzzing of his phone quickly distracted him from this optical illusion, and it was only then that Jon realized the loud buzzing noise didn’t trigger a wave of pain through his tired skull. It seemed to for Martin, who slapped a lazy hand at the phone and pushed it away from him towards Jon’s already-searching hand. 

His migraine was gone. He paused a moment just to savor this. It wasn’t appreciated often enough, the absence of pain or annoyance, how you never think ‘I’m glad my nose isn’t stuffed’ or ‘thank goodness I’m not coughing right now’. His head didn’t hurt. It was a luxurious feeling, and he chased the simple relief even as he moved his attention to the more stressful parts of the morning.

The first notification on his phone was a text from Sasha. It was a picture of the latest book she’d been reading- a book on philosophy, emblazoned with a bright yellow sun, with a few moths orbiting it. She told him she thought he’d like it.

As he looked, it seemed almost like the wings of the moths were fluttering gently to keep them aloft. The illusion shifted and warped until it wasn’t an illusion- the moths were flying, in slow lazy circles, around the yellow sun. He watched as one flew slowly into the orb. He could almost smell the burning. 

Jon blinked, then looked once more. The moths’ wings were still again. Before he could feel relieved, another movement caught his attention- the lightbulb widened, morphing before his eyes- reflecting them. It was an eye. The eye closed slowly, and reopened. A paradoxical solitary wink. 

He became aware of an uneasy feeling in his chest. This should be alarming him. He was seeing movement where there definitely shouldn’t be. Jon should be waking up Martin now. He should be calling Sasha.

He watched the eye. It looked to the left for a long moment, and to the right, and then back to him. It was a cartoonish shape, like it had been drawn by a child. It stared at him for a long moment, and winked out of existence. 

Jon stood decisively, reaching for his nearby jumper and pulling it on. He was still tired- still dreaming or something, obviously. Georgie would tell him he was being ridiculous, and she’d be right. He just wanted a break. One day with no new supernatural occurrences, no new thing to worry about-

Movement. In the window again- this time a rectangle- a door, of some sort. Yellow, like one of Helen’s, but tiny- and appearing, impossibly, in the glass.

As Jon looked at it, for a long moment, he watched the doorknob turn. It began to swing open, with a quiet creak audible from across the room, and he took a moment to be amazed he could hear it even from this distance. No such amazement at appearance of the door itself registered in his mind. 

Inside the little picture frame the doorframe made, he could see himself. Himself with much longer hair- clutching Martin’s hand, it looked like, and speaking quietly to him- here was a sense of extreme heat, and a loud crackling that seemed to echo loudly in the quiet morning light of Martin’s flat. The Martin in the room with him made another soft noise of disapproval at the noise, and Jon sat to stroke his hair once again, eyes still fixed on the door.

It occurred to him he could probably do something about what was happening. Close the door, maybe, text one of the others- something to alert everyone that he was hallucinating.

Jon was content to watch. He watched as the images shifted in the door- for a moment it was Sasha, sitting at a desk and sipping coffee. For another moment it was Tim, eyes flashing and looking like he was yelling, and then Melanie-

But there was something wrong. Melanie was wearing thick, dark sunglasses- he could see himself in the frame, saying something to her, and then she tilted her sunglasses down and there was empty where there should be-

Something moved. Jon squinted for a long moment. He wanted to see. 

It happened again. This finally spurred him to take action and he stood, moving closer to the yellow door and peering into the frame. 

It was a worm. A worm was slowly crawling out of the socket where Melanie’s left eye should be, wriggling and making its way down her cheek like a slow teardrop.

The worm opened its eyes, and the world went  _ wrong _ .

Martin was with him.

This was good, because nothing else about what was happening made any sort of sense except Martin being with him. His hand in Jon’s was solid, substantial, and warm- too warm. 

Everything was burning. Everything in Jon’s field of view was aflame, and the heat was overwhelming- it was terrifying, this inferno swirling around him, and he turned to Martin in a panic, holding in a scream, clutching desperately at Martin’s arm-

And he wasn’t holding Martin anymore, he was holding a piece of wood, and the wood was cool for a moment but quickly began feeling hotter and hotter to the touch and he threw it, as hard as he could, and suddenly it was Martin again and he was watching as he pushed Martin into the flames and there was screaming, screaming, screaming-

It took Martin a moment to realize he wasn’t dreaming the terrified screaming ringing in his ears, and a moment longer to realize that the person screaming was in the room with him, and then he was rushing as fast as he could to Jon’s side and clutching his hand and shaking him and trying desperately to wake him up from whatever trance he was trapped in.

Jon’s eyes were open and he stared at the ceiling, watching something Martin was unable to see, and after a long moment the screaming subsided into a desperate sort of sobbing noise. It was unreal, almost, to hear the devastated sound but see almost no accompanying facial expressions, and Martin couldn’t think to imagine what Jon could possibly be seeing.

He wasn’t waking up. He was still sobbing, his hands clenched into fists so tightly that blood was dripping onto Martin’s white sheets, and then he started scratching at his arms with a sort of frantic ferocity that left red streaks wherever his nails dug in. Blood began to bead up in several places, and Martin grabbed at Jon’s hands, attempting to stop him from hurting himself further.

The worms were burrowing into his skin again.

Jon was pulling them off as quickly as he could, scratching and feeling the worms break apart under his sharp nails.

“Do you need help? I’d help, but I can’t fucking  _ see _ , you know,” Melanie said, softly and sweetly, a gentle smile on her face at odds with her biting tone. She stood close to him, just out of reach, looking wrong somehow- too stiff. Like a mannequin. Jon fought the urge to vomit as a worm poked its way out of her cheekbone, and another wriggled out of her temple and flopped onto her forehead. Her dark sunglasses covered something Jon didn’t think he wanted to see. 

He tried, desperately, to speak. A garbled noise came out- a sort of muffled static- and more worms with it, dropping onto the carpet in front of him.

Carpet. They were in the Archives, suddenly, and the worms were gone, and Melanie leaned in, tilting down her glasses and winking. Her eyes were their normal dark brown, accentuated by dark eyeliner and mascara, and the wink showed off her golden eyeshadow.

“Avoided it this time, Jon, hm?” She asked, and it wasn’t Melanie’s familiar voice, but Elias’s, and suddenly Jon was staring into a pair of eyes inches from his face.

Elias stepped back, circling and observing him, leaning in close on occasion and making ‘hm’ noises. 

“Is this real?” Jon asked, his voice hoarse and cracking, and Elias laughed, high and mocking. They were in Elias’s office. Jon was sitting in a chair across from him, just like he had so many times before, but it had been quite some time since he had felt this sort of intense fear around the other man. The last time had been when he hurt Martin, when Martin was-

Martin was saying his name. He could hear him, over and over, like a quiet buzzing in his ears, but it faded as Elias began to speak again, his tone still derisive. Jon became aware, slowly, that the paintings behind him were blinking.

“Our precious little Archivist. Your fear is real, and isn’t that enough?” 

“But- you aren’t actually here. Talking to me.” Jon managed to get out, finding it difficult to think straight. The room felt empty of air. He felt as if his lungs were gasping for oxygen, but he seemed to be breathing normally.

“The Eye is here, just as it always is. Try to keep up, Jon.” Elias steepled his fingers in front of him on the desk, and Jon half expected him to look down at a nearby document and begin talking about his quarterly performance review. “Now. I feel as if we have some things we should discuss, while I have a moment of your time. Shall we begin with what a pathetic worm you are, in the grand scheme of things? I can show you some examples of times you’ve failed the people who trust you just to illustrate a complete picture. Only the very best for you, Jon.”

Jon was hyperventilating, now.

Martin felt on the edge of hysterics, frozen and clutching to Jon’s hand as he watched him struggle for air for a terrifying moment, and then feeling icy relief flood him as Jon took a long shuddering breath in.

“Martin-” 

“Jon- Jon!” Martin squeezed Jon’s hand tightly, but it wasn’t the breakthrough he was waiting for. Jon’s eyes still stared blankly, staring right through Martin’s eager and hopeful face. 

He reached for his phone blindly, and finding nothing, found himself forced to let go of Jon’s hand. The morning light wasn’t strong enough to illuminate the entire room- he scrambled to look for it, throwing aside pillows and blankets and all the things that were normally so comforting to him and now felt like insurmountable obstacles, blocking the way between him and finding something that could help Jon.

“So lovely to see you again, Archivist!” A cheery voice called to him, and Jon turned to see Sasha.

She smiled, all pale white skin and freckles and blonde curls, and Jon’s skin crept as she held up a cup of tea, steam rising from it gently. She wore her signature yellow sweater, oversized and mustard-colored, her usual silver glasses perched on her nose, and Tim sat on a comfortable looking couch behind her, holding an unlit cigarette and a lighter.

“Sasha- I’m not sure what’s happening. I think I’m hallucinating, I-”

“Oh, none of that nonsense now, please, Jon. Take a seat! I made tea.” Sasha smiled widely, revealing a wide smear of what looked like red lipstick on her teeth, and stepped back to sit next to Tim. He slung an arm around her easily, grinning at Jon with all of his usual charm, and said nothing. 

“Please, Sasha, I need help, I’m frightened that-”

“Jon, please, I’ve already asked you to shut up.” Her smile glittered. Tim, beside her, raised his cigarette to his lips and lit it, then held the lighter to his hand, pressing the flame against his fingers. Jon watched as wax began to drip from them, running down his wrist and disappearing below the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Thank you. I’d like to enjoy my tea, and I can’t when you never stop talking about things that don’t matter.” 

“Sasha-”

“Archivist. Please. No one keeps you around to listen to you talk, we keep you around because you’re funny. This is the second time you’ve failed to realize that I’m wearing her skin. She should feel betrayed, honestly, that you’re so blind to what’s right in front of her. Do you just not care about her? Is that it?” Sasha put her hands on her cheeks, exaggerating a shocked expression.

“Sasha-”

“And stupid, too. I’m not even bothering to pretend, right now, and you’re still falling for it,” she continued, hooking a thumb under her jaw like she was going to pull it off. “Shall I show you? I think I might. Look-”

A blank white face stared at him and dangled a piece of brown cloth- a wig-

A mannequin wearing Sasha’s sweater dangled a crude extremely life-like mask of her face from one hand, her long braids left to drag carelessly in the dirt. Jon thought, with a horrible sick feeling, that it wasn’t a ‘mask’ at all.

“Can I see your mask? Here, take it off and show me what’s underneath.” Not-Sasha said, and reached forward to trail her fingers along Jon’s jaw, and then she began to pull.

“Fuck!” Martin swore loudly as Jon yelled in pain, clutching at his face and rolling to the side in an attempt to protect himself from an invisible assailant. “Fuck, fuck, Jon, how do I help, how do I- I need Helen-”

“Sorry it took me so long, traffic was bad.” A voice startled him and then there was Helen leaning over his shoulder, watching as Jon began to scream once again, face twisted in pain. 

Martin squeaked in surprise, jumping to the side, his expression still horrified as the man he loved continued to scream in unimaginable pain.

“Okay, bad joke. Noted,” she said dryly, and reached out with a long sharp finger, tapping Jon on the shoulder gently. Jon yelled louder at this, clutching his shoulder in 

pain. 

“It isn’t real, Jon, honestly, calm down.” She tapped him again, this time on the forehead, and he closed his eyes tightly, his hands flying up to shield his face. Martin relaxed minutely as his pained yells tapered off, and he tentatively reached out to take Jon’s hand. 

Jon seized it immediately, clutching his hand to his chest tightly, holding onto Martin like he was the only real thing in the world, and this finally unwound the terrifying knot of worry in his chest, just a little. He pulled Jon close and Jon melted into his side, letting out a soft tired sound of pain as he did so.

Helen looked decidedly unimpressed, curling a strand of her hair around an impossibly long finger as she sat down on a nearby armchair. 

“This hasn’t been fun for me either, but you don’t see me whining about it.” She sighed as she spoke, tilting her head to the side slightly, and just watching her made Martin somehow dizzy. He focused instead on reaching for a nearby tissue and dabbing at a few of the scratches on Jon’s arms, cleaning up any blood best he could. 

“No follow-up questions? I suppose he’s more of the curious one.” Helen put on a show of boredom, checking her nails, and Martin bit back an angry retort. She had woken Jon up from this, after all, even though he was willing to bet she had something to do with why this had happened in the first place.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Will Jon be alright?”

“First question is complicated, second question is easy- probably not, for a little.” Helen shrugged, which was far too casual of a gesture for Martin to appreciate after what she had just said. “What he saw was pretty traumatic, after all. Poor Archivist. Seeing pain instead of just eating the pain of others. Must be hard.”

“What did he see? What happened?” Martin looked down at Jon, brushing a thumb gently across his eyebrow, smoothing out the wrinkles of his forehead. 

“He saw the end of the world. One that he inadvertently created. The timeline that he barely escaped from, the one that he stepped through my door to get away from. Well, not my door. His door. But Michael’s gone now.” Her eyes were also on Jon, and she watched as Martin cradled Jon’s head in his hands, treating him like breakable fine china.

“So what does that mean for Jon?” Martin asked, worried to hear the answer.

“Cramming two lives into your skull means a lot of headaches until they eventually fully meld together. He stepped through the door a long time ago, and it’s been creaking slowly shut, and it just slammed behind him.” Helen paused to gauge Martin’s understanding, and finding herself satisfied, continued. “It does mean, however, that he’s much more powerful than he was at this point before. Better prepared, if that eases your mind any.”

“Is he still him?” 

“As much as anyone is anyone, when you’ve been chosen like we have. As much as I’m Helen.” Helen smiled at him, slow and almost mocking, and Martin shook his head.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His eyes were still on Jon’s still face, dried blood coated around his lip and where he’d been scratching and clawing at himself.

“He’ll be the Jon you’ve always known. Maybe not the one he was before he started to  _ know _ .” She had the air of someone who was telling a joke to herself, and Martin wasn’t fond of it, but her words were reassuring. 

They’d been through a lot. They’d go through this as well. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the climax of the story!! i've had like no time to write recently so i'm sorry recent updates have been so choppy, but i'm really trying to wind this story down to an end- so we now have an official goal of 35 chapters. we're getting super canon divergent and you know what? i really do not give a fuck. this story's been an excuse to write hurt/comfort fluff from the beginning. thanks for sticking w me this far. <3
> 
> please please comment and tell me your every single thought, all i do for like an hour after i post this is just refresh the comments section and smile at every single one
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae if you would like to come be my friend :)


	31. i blasted that tiktok song that goes 'fantasize about the pussy power i'm sweet then i'm sour i'm big boss bowser' on repeat while writing this chapter and it shows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: a lot of the same things as last chapter: jon experiences vivid hallucinations he believes to be real, so tws for: unreality, gore, skin-wearing (i honestly dont know how else to describe this), unintentional self harm, blood. it's not as intense as last chapter but there's a couple description-heavy scenes.
> 
> this was very fun to write, and now next chapter will probably be very fluff heavy, unless i have a day like this one where i'm like 'lets write happy jon' but then i forget that it's supposed to be happy, which is possibly maybe what happened. i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. it's hurt with some comfort sprinkled on top

“Martin,  _ Martin-” _

“Jon? Jon, are you-” Martin awoke with a start as Jon shook his shoulder, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and Jon had never felt relief like the sight of Martin’s chest rising and falling. The bed creaked as Martin sat up, moving to sit cross-legged, and Jon grabbed at his arm. 

“You  _ died,  _ Martin, I saw it- you died- it was my fault, just like- the others, my fault, and I-” He desperately stammered words as soon as he could think of them, trying to convey exactly what he had seen, but he had seen so much. The images were sticking, overlaid on what he saw now- even now, as he drank in Martin’s face blinking at him, Martin’s face moving, Martin alive- the flickering pattern of flames threatened to overtake his vision if he lost his focus. Helen’s yellow door was shut, but he hadn’t yet managed to figure out how to lock it. 

“I’m not, I didn’t! I’m here. Jon. Jon!” Martin grabbed his hands, squeezing them tightly, and this was enough to bring Jon back to reality. It was evening, from what he could tell. A lamp was shining softly from nearby. It was light enough to illuminate Jon’s arms, covered with bandaging, and the sheet underneath him, stained with what looked like dried blood.

“What happened? Was it real? Was-” He touched a finger lightly to his jaw, expecting a wound and finding smooth skin. It had felt real. It had felt horribly real, the thing pulling Sasha’s skin back on over its smooth white skull and digging her fingers under his jaw and ripping up-

“It wasn’t real. Most of it didn’t actually happen, it was just- a side effect of the Spiral, trying to maximise your fear. Helen says it was a very bad idea to step through one of Michael’s doors. It could’ve been worse. We got lucky, I guess.” Jon assumed the last sentence was meant to be sarcasm, although it was hard to tell for him normally- and harder when Martin’s words were slurred slightly from exhaustion. 

He couldn’t trust Martin’s words, as much as he would like to. Elias had told him many things weren’t real with a smile, and then those things all proceeded to hurt him. Over and over he had woken up to see Martin, and over and over he was told it was over, and over and over he watched Martin die. This was the first time he’d been in Martin’s flat, and the first time Martin had mentioned Helen, but that could just be the newest invention of whatever hellscape he had been trapped in. It could be something else wearing his face. 

“Sasha- she’s dead, isn’t she, I saw-”

“She’s not, she’s not, she’s okay. She’s fine, she’s alive.” Martin cradled Jon’s face in his hands, leaning forward to press his forehead against Jon’s, and the gentle contact helped to ground him immediately. Touch that didn’t hurt felt like a novelty. 

“I need to- I need to see her- and Tim, is he dead, I saw him too, in an explosion, and then he was melting and I couldn’t do anything I swear- and Georgie, she-” 

“They’re fine. Everyone’s okay, I promise,” Martin cut him off again, his tone calm and reassuring as he slid out his phone from his pocket and hurriedly typed something in. “I’ll tell them to come over, okay? I wanted to let you rest, I should’ve realized you’d need to see them. Georgie, Melanie, Basira- they’re all alive, all safe.” 

This was a trick. It had to be a trick, but he wanted it to be real so badly. Days felt like they had passed while he was spinning through dreams and memories and visions and nightmares, his head swirling in a slow dizzying spiral, and always there was the pain and the fear and the eyes opening on every surface and every pattern to wink a hello, to remind him that even in his mind he wasn’t free from the Eye. He had woken up in Martin’s arms countless times and moments later had seen flames began to creep up the walls or the walls themselves begin to move or swim or disappear and always he had been powerless to stop it, frozen, able only to watch- and after Martin’s heart had stopped he’d be back in Elias’s office, an overwhelmingly negative performance review waiting for him in which Elias broke down all of the ways he had failed those who depended on him.

The walls remained still. Jon allowed himself a long moment just to stare at them, let his eyes wander over the paintings Martin had hung, the string lights draped here and there over a bookshelf or windowsill, an abundance of comfortable objects filling any space available. This hadn’t happened, in any of the things he had gone through- they had never been in Martin’s flat, only the Archives or unfamiliar rooms. That could be proof that this was over.

Martin’s phone rang, and while Martin turned his attention to it Jon shifted and tucked himself closer. He pressed his face as deeply as he could into the safety of Martin’s neck, and kissed gently where he could feel Martin’s pulse.

In return Martin reached up, sliding his fingers into the mess of hair at the nape of Jon’s neck and beginning to untangle it as he murmured something. Jon could hear a female voice speaking low on the other end, and then Tim’s unmistakeable laugh. He let himself relax, just a bit, at the familiar sound. 

Martin asked when the voice would be there. Sasha, then? He tugged on Martin’s wrist to bring the phone close to his own ear, and listened carefully.

  
  


Jon had relaxed, somewhat- enough to curl into Martin, at least, and that was generally a good sign. Martin was almost content, in this moment, a quiet moment where he could relax in the voices of his friends, on their way, and in his love, safe at his side, before Sasha said something on the line and Jon hit the phone out of his hand as hard as he could and scrambled backwards. 

“That’s not her. Martin- that’s not her. That’s not Sasha.” Jon was grasping at the bedsheets below him, fisting them in his hands, and Martin’s heart immediately dropped back into his stomach. Five minutes away. Sasha and Tim were five minutes away.

“It is her, Jon, really. We have the recordings of her voice to prove it, I’ll play them for you so you can hear. And the polaroids, I have a few polaroids here.” Martin hoped desperately this would help. Jon didn’t seem lucid, and it was hard to convince someone who was convinced you were lying that you weren’t when they were hallucinating. Especially when it seemed Jon had lived this scenario in a dream before, and it had ended with pain and screaming.

“Martin, please, you have to trust me- it’ll take my face again, it’ll take your  _ skin _ , I can’t do it again, I need you to believe me, please-” Jon looked around wildly and Martin reached forward, trying to take Jon’s hand in his own, but Jon shook his head frantically and backed away until he hit the wall.

“I trust you, Jon, I do, but I need you to trust me too, okay? You’re safe, you’re with me, I promise you’re safe. She won’t come up, if you don’t want her to- Tim can come up first, okay? And Sasha will stay downstairs.” Martin tried his most reassuring tone, willing his tired mind to come up with the right words. His eyes felt red and puffy from lack of sleep, but he focused still on Jon, thinking quickly and reaching towards a nearby table where he hoped he had left a recent Polaroid of him and Sasha.

It wasn’t there. His grasping hand landed on nothing, and the buzzer sounded behind him- Sasha and Tim, at the front door downstairs. They could wait. The loud noise startled Jon even further, and his hands crept towards his arms, nails digging into the parts of his skin that weren’t already covered with scratches.

“Jon, don’t. Please, Jon, it’s me, you know I trust you and I believe you but we can find a Polaroid of her and look at that first, and then go downstairs and see her so that we know that it’s her. The Polaroids have dates on them, okay?” Martin tried again, moving forward on the bed and putting his hand on Jon’s shoulder. This time Jon put his own hand over Martin’s, grasping it gently, and then unexpectedly surging forward to shove Martin behind him as Sasha called a cheery hello from the other room. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Martin yelped as he fell backwards against the wall, knocking his head on the white plaster, and for a moment could do nothing except wait for his vision to stop turning grey at the edges. Jon was between him and Tim, who had appeared in the doorway and was now slowly walking towards the bed, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace. 

“Your neighbour let us in, Martin, and you really should lock your flat we were able to just walk right in I hope that’s okay, is Jon alrigh- Oh.” Sasha entered in her usual manner, a whirlwind of energy, and promptly froze at the scene in front of her. Jon’s body stiffened as she entered the room, and he looked back to make sure Martin was behind him.

“Jon, it’s me,” she said quietly, looking to Tim, who looked as confused as her. “Martin, I thought- he had woken up?” 

“Helen said there might be- echoes, she put it,” Martin offered quietly from where he had landed, sprawled between the wall and the bed. He pushed himself back up to a sitting position.

Jon turned to look at him again at the movement, and Martin’s heart clenched at the terror in his eyes. He took hold of Jon’s hand, and Jon squeezed it tightly enough he could feel crescent wounds begin to form where his nails bit in.

“Where are the Polaroids, Martin?” Tim asked quietly, and Jon whipped around at the sound of his voice like he was seeing him for the first time. 

“Tim- you’re not-” He struggled to find words for a moment. “I watched you die.” 

“Not dead, Jon, promise. And Sasha’s still Sasha,” Tim responded, in a reassuring tone, and looked expectantly at Martin. 

“There’s one of me and her on the wall in the kitchen,” Martin said, and Tim nodded. He backed out of the room and tugged Sasha along with him. Jon relaxed into a sitting position as soon as she was out of view, and Martin flexed his hand to cue Jon to lessen his painful grip slightly. 

“Tim’s going to get the Polaroid, okay? We’ll look at it, and then see Sasha again. If they aren’t the same, then she’ll leave and won’t come back, okay?” He looked Jon in the eyes, and was relieved to see them sharpen slightly and focus on Martin, instead of staring blankly at the wall behind him. 

“Yes. I- alright.” He looked around warily. Martin hoped, desperately, that the picture would help him see that this was Sasha. If it wasn’t, he wasn’t quite sure what he would do. 

Jon watched as the wax figure pretending to be Tim came back into the room, and the  _ thing _ followed behind it.

It was wearing the skin of Sasha’s face over its shiny plastic head like a paper bag with holes cut in for eyes and a mouth, and it drooped garishly in the cheeks like a cartoon mockery of sadness. The thing had even perched Sasha’s glasses over its nose, but the lack of a nose behind the skin had made it difficult for them to stay on, and so it had tried staples, which caused the blood still smeared on the inside of Sasha’s skin to drip slowly down the mannequin head and onto the neck of Sasha’s yellow sweater. 

It was so much worse when the thing actually put effort into pretending. Jon wasn’t bothering to listen to the words it was saying- more taunts, probably, about how Sasha’s life was barely worth stealing anyway, or maybe about Jon’s stupidity, or most likely just more about how it was going to wear his skin and the skin of everyone he’d ever loved. The usual.

Then Martin was tapping his shoulder, and handing him a Polaroid picture.

For a brief moment, Jon could see the china-doll appearance the NotSasha liked to take. Pale white skin, picture-perfect blonde curls, and never-blinking blue eyes. A living illustration from a storybook.

He looked closer. The sickly pale faded from the image, and as he focused through the static in his head Jon could see it was Sasha, his Sasha, the Sasha he considered one of the people he cared about most. It was an older photo, her natural hair back in a curly puff held with a headband instead of her usual long braids like the Sasha standing in front of him had-

Long braids, dragging in the dirt, held by a monster, matted with blood and dirt and leaves, Sasha’s face turned into a costume-

He looked again at the picture. Here was Sasha’s face in front of him. Dark brown skin and dark brown eyes, a wide smile, her arm around Martin, who was also smiling shyly at the camera. More recent photos would show him laughing, or sticking his tongue out at the photographer, but his reserved, almost uncomfortable pose betrayed the photo’s age. 

And here was Sasha’s face in front of him. She was biting her lip, looking anxiously between Martin and Jon, and Tim had a hand on her shoulder- it was unmistakably his Sasha, alive, safe, in front of him, and he stood quickly to walk towards her.

Sasha, startled, took a step back, and then froze as Jon hugged her tightly. She quickly returned the embrace, looking extremely relieved, and began fussing over Jon as soon as possible.

“Your arms- oh, Jon, these bandages need to be changed- are you alright?” Sasha began in a rush, and stopped as Jon staggered in her arms. His terrified adrenaline had carried him this far, but he could feel the tiredness of the last day in his bones, and all he wanted was to be done with these terrifying warped hallucinations. His friends were alive. They were okay. They were safe. Jon grasped onto Sasha tightly, feeling dizzy with relief, and she pulled him onto the bed next to her, putting an arm around him as he leaned his cheek onto her shoulder.

“Sasha, I’m- I apologize. I saw- it take you. In the dreams.” Jon managed to get out, his words shaky and tired, and she leaned the side of her head against his.

“I’m here. It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow- you need to rest right now,” she said, rubbing his shoulder gently where her hand rested. Tim sat heavily on the bed next to Martin, nudging him with his knee.

“You okay?” He asked, and Martin nodded, giving him a tired smile. Jon was relieved to see this- Tim being here meant Martin could relax. Jon trusted Tim to take care of Martin just as Martin had taken care of the Archives staff so many times before. He deserved to be able to rest. Speaking of rest. 

Jon focused on Sasha, and her warmth pressed against him. He could feel her breathe slow and steady, and he let himself breathe in time while he listened to her quiet voice as she talked with Tim. Tim was here, Tim was alive, Tim was laughing at something Sasha had said and then Martin was groggily telling Tim to shut up, please, some of them needed their rest, and Tim was telling Martin that any more beauty sleep and there would be no hope for the rest of them, they couldn’t compete with him, and then Jon was closing his eyes and drifting off, still leaning into Sasha’s side.

He dreamed of Sasha and her yellow camera and her once again snapping a picture of him and Martin. This time, instead of stiffly and reluctantly standing close to Martin, he intertwined their fingers, leaning up to kiss him before turning to the camera and smiling. Sasha blew at a braid that had swung into her face and Tim reached up to tuck it behind her ear for her. The camera flashed. 

When he woke up, the walls were still, and all four of the Archives staff were sprawled onto the same small bed. Martin’s soft breathing stirred Tim’s hair where their heads rested close together on the same pillow. Jon’s head was in Sasha’s lap, her hand draped over his forehead where she must’ve been stroking his hair, and her head rested on Tim’s stomach. All of their still faces were illuminated softly by the moonlight streaming through the window. It was warm, and quiet except for the soft traffic outside.

Jon closed his eyes, and went back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting kinda sad we're getting so close to the end :( this fic really reignited my love of writing and my creativity and i'm very excited to write more fics afterwards!! and finish all those WIPs littering my ao3 page. rip. 
> 
> unrelated but. a few things. could you imagine being martin in this situation. knowing that your boyfriend is hallucinating and that some of those visions are based off of real things that happened in an alternate timeline- things that could definitely happen. you have failsafes in case of your friend being replaced, you know this is a real thing that could conceivably happen, and someone you love is begging you to trust them, and you have that doubt- that tiny doubt- what if he's right? but of course if he was right then martin would have no skin. i thought about that a lot while writing this, because like imagine being sasha trying to convince your friends you're really you and they're just yelling about how you're going to wear their face and you're like oh my god. more trauma ? i'm sick of the trauma now. 
> 
> every time i check my phone now my friends ask me if i got any new ao3 comments because i won't shut up about my fanfiction


	32. at this sleepover we talk about boys and our horrific and terrifying deaths and how they contributed to the apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has nothing to do with anything but i was supposed to play magenta onstage this weekend (i'm on my city's monthly rocky horror picture show shadowcast) and i'm only a little heartbroken that the thing i had been dreaming of since i was 13 isn't going to happen for ages now but WHATEVER here's the chapter. when it's midnight on saturday think of me. i was supposed to be screaming swear words at a screen and being gay in public. tragic. i'm channeling my emotions through angsty chapters
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to nadia and matt and all the rest of you who follow me on tumblr and send me things because i'm still just so happy that someone actually took me up on the 'come be my friend'. ur all great and im very grateful for you and that you like this bullshit i write at 5 am while stoned and post immediately without rereading or editing

Tim woke up to a mouthful of Martin’s hair. 

He groaned quietly, flopping backwards and untangling himself from Martin, and ended up landing on Sasha, whose eyes blinked open slowly at the sudden presence on her legs. She smiled when she saw who it was, reaching out a hand and softly trailing a finger along the side of his cheek. He licked her hand.

“Tim!” Her tone was reprimanding, but the continued presence of her smile betrayed her. “We can’t have a nice romantic moment?”

“With me, every moment is romantic,” Tim replied, winking and sitting up to kiss Sasha good morning. “It’s the Stoker guarantee.”

She raised an unconvinced eyebrow at him as she pulled away, and he had to take a moment just to look at her.

He was struck, again and again, at the thought that he would do anything for her, and she would do anything for him. It had stuck in his mind, recently, because that the Archives the definitions of ‘anything’ stretched broader than in most other establishments, and she had already done so much for him- for anyone in the Archives, really, and he wanted to make sure she was being taken care of as well. That was Tim’s job, always. Make Sasha smile and try not to fuck up anything.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked quietly, leaning back onto the pillow. They had shifted, over the night, and now Jon had ended up pressed in between Sasha and Martin, his grip on Martin’s arm tight even in his sleep. Jon looked like shit, and that was putting it mildly. Tim could see the dark bags under his eyes, bruises and deep fingernail scratches down his arms, and the remnants of what looked like a split lip, where he must’ve bitten it. He could practically feel the icy anger rising in him- was it possible to try and fight a hallucination? He should look into that.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Tim nodded towards Jon. Sasha moved further on the bed, attempting to get to the edge near Tim, and managed to semi-gracefully flop into Tim’s lap and wrigge into the space between his arm and chest. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he pressed a light kiss on top of her hair.

“Of course. He has us to take care of him, he’ll be fine,” she said confidently. 

“Martin’s asleep, you can be honest,” Tim shot back, only half-joking.

“I’m serious, I think it’ll be okay. Georgie’s going to come soon, with Melanie- Basira’s busy, but she’ll call Jon later so he knows she’s alright. Not much we can do beyond that but take care of him, I suppose. And Martin.” Her tone was comforting, and Tim wasn’t quite sure if he should accept it as an answer or not. He felt like a bit like a worried child being reassured, but he was also fully aware Sasha’s response to stress was to act like everyone else was more stressed than she was, and then try to take care of them.

Too many damn caretakers, in this office. They needed some more people not afraid to do stupid thing, besides just him and...

This reminded him.

“Can we give Melanie the wrong address, just for fun?” He asked, and Sasha poked him in the side, making him snort and almost fall onto Martin. 

“Stop antagonizing some of the only people on our side,” she rolled her eyes as he stuck her tongue out at her, reaching out a hand like she was going to grab it. Tim moved backwards again, this time bumping Martin gently. 

“Don’t wake him up!” Sasha exclaimed, but it was too late. Martin rolled over, and there was a moment where Tim thought he’d fall right back asleep, but a second later he was blinking blearily. 

The first thing Martin saw when he opened his eyes was Tim and Sasha, and he’d never been more grateful for them. 

For most of the morning, they were teasing each other in their usual way- smiling often, and widely, and both doing their absolute best to help Martin after the ordeal of the previous day. He couldn’t help but feel bolstered by their cheery spirits, even if it was an act. He could tell both of them were just as worried about Jon as he was, but he no longer had the energy to fake a smile. 

He had slept long enough to remember how to be a human being, but not how to be his normal self, and he could tell it was worrying Sasha. After his third listless blink and “uh… sorry, what was that?”, she had attempted to convince him to sleep, but he wanted to wait for Jon to wake up. He needed to make sure he woke up, and no hallucinations took him in the night. 

It took several hours, but shortly before noon Jon sat up and looked wildly around. Sasha was tensed and clutching her hands in fists as she waited to see if he’d recognize her, and Martin stepped quickly in between them as an extra precaution, moving towards Jon.

“Martin, it’s alright, I’m not- seeing things,” Jon started, winced for a moment as he jostled a bruised arm, and stretched out a hand towards Martin, who was quick to take it and sit besides Jon. “I’m hoping it’s done.”

“Knock on wood or something. after saying something like that,” Tim said quickly, looking around for a wooden object, and Sasha lightly rapped her knuckles on his forehead. 

“Georgie will be here in half an hour- Melanie too,” she said to Jon, who smiled slightly at the mention of Georgie. His eyes were glassy and far away, but he was responding well enough to what was happening around him. Martin chose to take it as a good sign. They deserved a good sign, at this point, even if their version of ‘good’ was just ‘not hallucinating’. 

“I saw what happened, last time. What happened without me stepping through the door.” Jon began, and Martin quickly cut him off.

“Are you ready to talk about it, Jon? We can wait, if you need to. Please don’t push yourself.” He knew Sasha in particular was eager to hear what Jon had seen, but reliving the memories so soon after  _ seeing _ them happen, in front of his own eyes, seemed like the last thing that would be productive right now. What if it led to another bout of hallucinations? Martin wasn’t sure he could handle another day like the day before.

“I’ll be fine, Martin,” Jon continued, in a brusque manner, and after Martin gave him a less-than-thrilled expression, amended his words. “I’ll be careful, Martin, and I’ll let you know if I begin to feel any adverse effects. I can promise you, it’ll be quite all right.” 

Jon was shaking slightly as he spoke, belying his confident words, and Martin tucked a steadying arm through his. He wouldn’t attempt to stop Jon- Jon was too stubborn for that, and besides, Martin trusted him. Tim took a seat on the bed on the other side of Jon and Sasha joined him, opting to seek refuge in the comfort of all of the Archives staff within arms reach. Sasha reached over Tim to rub gentle circles onto Martin’s back, and he shot her a grateful smile.

“I’ll start from the beginning. As we know, Jane Pretniss’s attack went… differently, the first time around…”

Melanie and Georgie arrived right as Jon was explaining how Sasha had died in the original timeline, and Jon barely stopped to acknowledge their arrival.

Martin had only seen him like this when recording a statement- his voice altered, his eyes shuttered, speaking quickly as if in a rush to get it all out. Jon talked at length about his hallucinations, almost looking startled at times at some of the details he shared, as if he hadn’t meant to let it slip out loud. He spoke about seeing Martin die, over and over, about how Elias taunted him after every failed attempt to save him, how Tim’s face would swim before his eyes and then begin to melt, about Melanie’s pain and Georgie’s absence and Sasha’s skin.

He also told them about the original timeline, and their actions in it. Tim’s eyes darkened as Jon described the unraveling of their relationship and the anger that festered between them as months went on, and Sasha had become more tense as time went on. Her part of the story had already ended, cut short by a monster, and her leg had begun to bounce in- frustration? Agitation? It was hard to tell, but the atmosphere in the room was less than comfortable.

Jon continued. Tim’s death, Melanie’s eyes, how she had escaped the Magnus Institute. The knowledge that his own death would set all of them free. The apocalypse. Losing Martin. Losing his reason to continue on, and deciding that no matter the outcome, he would step through the door. 

Martin became increasingly convinced that knowing wouldn’t help. He missed his blissful ignorance, when his biggest worry was if his boss would notice his hopeless crush on him. The Martin that had started as an archival assistant would have never expected to be where he was now- his flat crowded with loved ones, arm in arm with his boyfriend, hearing descriptions of how they’d all died and suffered in a timeline avoided only by a suicidal move prompted by his own death. Pros and cons. 

Jon reached his point of exhaustion, and as the recounting ended he seemed to notice Georgie and Melanie for the first time- he stretched out a hand towards Georgie immediately and she took it. Martin’s bed creaked dangerously as both of them found space to sit, and Georgie bumped an arm against his, the most comforting greeting she could offer while her focus was on Jon.

“So… how are you guys?” She said quietly, looking to Martin, then Tim, then Sasha. Jon seemed done with speaking, closing his eyes for a long moment and leaning forward to rest his forehead on Georgie’s shoulder. 

“Tired,” Sasha offered, and there were nods of agreement. Melanie was silent, rubbing one of her tattoos absent-mindedly and looking to be deep in thought- it couldn’t be easy to hear about an alternate you, one with eyes weeping worms and some extra trauma on top. She had heard the least about Jon’s visions, had hovered on the edge of their Archives group, but it was hard to avoid getting sucked in. Even Basira had begun actually responding to the group chat messages, but Martin was willing to bet neither had anticipated friendship coming with strings attached, not when those strings were ‘knowledge of a timeline where everything went wrong’. 

Martin reached out to tap Melanie’s hand, and gave her a questioning look. He hoped the ‘you okay?’ was implied, and she seemed to understand- she gave him a smile and a nod. Her eyes were unfocused and it was the picture-perfect smile she reserved for Youtube. Martin was not reassured. 

All of them were visibly shaken, and none saw much relief except the comfort of each other. They’d moved to the living room before long, as Martin’s bed continued to creak loudly and often, and he was certain ending the day with a broken piece of furniture would be the thing to make him lay on the floor and give up. Jon had come back to himself somewhat, seemed more alert, and had attached himself to Martin’s side. Martin was not complaining, as at Jon’s side was exactly where he wanted to be.

There was comfortable seating sprinkled around the room, but most was meant for one person, and no one seemed keen to sit alone and ponder their alternate self’s choices. Instead it was agreed silently that all the pillows and blankets from the couch should be pulled off and on the floor, and Sasha played music quietly from her phone, some soft song heavy on the guitar. 

Sasha knew this wasn’t over. She had been coming back to the thought, her mind circling back to remind her periodically whenever she managed to distract herself at last- she knew Elias was still at the Institute, was still planning on the apocalypse, was planning on using someone she loved (and, by extension, most of the other people she loved) to accomplish it. He had already succeeded once.

There was only so much recovery time. This, where they were right now- this was a luxury. For a brief moment, they were safe in numbers, felt comforted by the bright atmosphere of Martin’s flat, able to recover from visions or sleep-deprivation or the sheer trauma of hearing about your own death. It was something she wanted to hold onto, the affectionate clenching of her heart as Tim hugged Martin tightly, as Jon squeezed her hand once before releasing it, as Melanie knocked a shoulder against hers with a slight smile or as Georgie asked her softly if she needed anything. She found herself missing Basira as well, her serious demeanor and confidence, the missing puzzle piece of their small group. 

It was something they had worked toward and fought to keep- the comfort of each other. She was determined not to lose it. Not in this timeline. Regardless of where things went from here, things were different this time around. None of them would be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's only three chapters left.................................... there might only be two tbh........................... not super ready to say goodbye to my versions of these characters so i might write a sequel............................................. idk yet 
> 
> this didn't end up being as sappy as i wanted it to. hopefully next chapter will fix that !!!!!!! it'll probably be up this weekend, unless i take a tab again, which in case it'll be up sometime next week.
> 
> in the meantime i hope all of you are staying safe happy and healthy, and if you want to be my friend or yell at me about this fic or if you just want to vent my tumblr is @diffenbachiae and all i want in this world are asks and comments and interaction with you guys, because it blows my mind people are actually reading this. i was a wolf 359 author for a while i'm not used to anyone actually reading what i post lmao
> 
> if you haven't had water recently go drink some


	33. pillow talk (a filler chapter of fluff and thoughts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god i don't even remember what plot i was writing anymore i'm just writing whatever fluffy bullshit gets me through the week you know
> 
> this fic means a lot to me because i wrote it partly because i wanted to write a story about a group of traumatized people who began to recover through each other. the magnus archives is a hard fandom to write that fic for because the trauma just Never Fuckin Stops, but it was still really satisfying to write jon's progression from lonely, touch-starved, and craving human connection to being in a loving relationship having gained a family of friends who love and support him. there's two main areas of growth to nurture when you're recovering from trauma- connection with others and connection with yourself, and one can't grow healthily without the other. a network of trust and healthy relationships can start with just one person (in jon's case, georgie). when i listened to the podcast for the first time, i remember thinking 'god if they just COMMUNICATED', and then they went more into background details about characters and i was like oh. they all went through intense childhood trauma. that explains a lot. and that made me want to write a fic where everything goes better, and they find eachother before they drift too far apart. this chapter kind of felt like the culmination of that for me in a way- the original four archives squad recovering from a traumatic event together, in healthy ways, taking comfort in their support network and caring for each other while being cared for themselves. that's the dream babey

Jon opened his eyes and immediately saw Martin’s face, smoothed out in sleep, peaceful and quiet on the pillow next to him. 

He remained still, choosing simply to watch for a moment and enjoying the soft warm feeling settling into his chest. Martin was absolutely sprawled across the bed, legs tangled with the sheets and an arm protectively over Jon’s chest, warm against him wherever their skin touched. His breath stirred Jon’s hair on the pillow, even and steady, and Jon couldn’t help but watch him for another long moment, the reassuring in and out proving that Martin was alive, alive, alive. 

After what he had seen in his visions, all he wanted was Martin close to him. Jon moved closer, against Martin’s side, and managed to jostle him in the process, wincing as Martin let out a quiet groan and blinked. Normally he’d be upset with himself for waking Martin, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel guilty as Martin smiled at the sight of him. Jon sat up, leaning forward and kissing him soundly. 

“Jon! What was that for?” Martin asked, still smiling widely, and Jon smiled in return, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and pressing a kiss to Martin’s forehead, his cheek, his lips once again, his other cheek, another on his lips. Martin pulled Jon into his arms to escape the barrage, kissing him in return, and Jon relaxed for the first time in two days. They were safe, if only for this moment, if only in each other’s arms. 

He could just make out muffled voices from the other room- Georgie’s soft laugh, Sasha’s voice saying something quietly. 

“Tim and Melanie left to go pick up food, so it’s just Sasha, Georgie and us here right now.” Martin said softly, his fingers finding Jon’s hair and pushing it back from his forehead, rubbing gentle circles onto Jon’s temple with his thumb. Jon had never had this before- this whole world just between him and another. Every moment feeling like stolen time, Martin’s lips impossibly sweet on his. He cared for Martin so deeply, so fundamentally, loved him so much it almost hurt to look at him. Those days he had scorned the man, mocked him- Jon was so ashamed of who he had been. He knew both Martin and himself were so proud of who he had become.

“I love you,” Jon said, openly, looking into Martin’s eyes. He watched a blush spread slowly across his face.

“I love you too, Jon.” Martin replied, so simply it was just a fact and not a declaration. They had this to hold onto, this reason to continue, and it would always be enough for them both. 

“I spy with my little eye… the dumbest man to ever live,” Melanie said, leaning her elbow out the window and tapping her hand against the side of the car. Tim flipped her off, slowly letting his head come to rest against the steering wheel with a soft thump.

“Have I not suffered enough?” He asked, even his voice long-suffering, and took another hopeful look at the gas meter. The arrow remained stubbornly pointing at the E. Just as it had been for two minutes now.

McDonalds breakfast. That was all they were in charge of. How had they managed to run out of gas a mile from the McDonalds? Why did the universe hate him specifically? All he wanted was a hashbrown and a break from the certain tattooed woman who was still smirking at him. 

“I’m just saying, if we don’t return with some sort of caffeine and Egg McMuffin for Jon, we’ll have three mother hens yelling at us. Three. I am not putting up with Georgie, Sasha,  _ and _ Martin’s sass all at the same time. Also, I’d feel bad for Jon.” Melanie shrugged, fiddling with her phone in a show of nonchalance. Tim resisted the urge to groan dramatically and instead began searching directions to the nearest gas station. 

Melanie had sent him a Cup Pong iMessage game response. He decided that was more important, and promptly lost, swearing under his breath as he reluctantly sent the message. Her grin was palpable in the air. 

Tim wouldn’t admit it, but he loved having someone around he didn’t have to pull his punches with. His friendship with Melanie was competitive, childish, sometimes annoying, and almost always fun. It was just that sometimes it was useful to have some extra common sense in the vehicle. Specifically for situations such as this.

He missed Sasha. Not because he needed her to handle the current situation of them running out of gas- but because if Melanie effortlessly beat him at another iMessage game and smirked at him like she was doing now, he was in serious danger of throwing his phone out of the window. 

Georgie wasn’t scared of what had happened to Jon.

She wasn’t scared of anything, of course, but this was the first time in a while it had bothered her- she was reaching for the feeling, could feel it creeping at the edges of herself, tried to pull it in, when she saw how skinny and tired and small Jon looked after he had exhausted himself, but her grasp was never strong enough. She remained unafraid, and that gave her room to think. 

Melanie and Tim had left quite a while ago, each earning a kiss on the cheek from their respective partner for agreeing to do the hard work of picking up McDonalds breakfast. This left Sasha and Georgie to drink coffee in the kitchen, waiting for Martin and Jon to wake up, and trading stories about times they’d gotten either Melanie or Tim out of trouble. As much as Georgie enjoyed Sasha’s company, it was hard to concentrate with everything that she had to think over, and she had excused herself for a moment to go to the bathroom and stare at her reflection in the mirror.

She was glad to know every version of her had helped Jon. She loved him, he was like a little brother with self-destructive tendencies to her, and she was so proud of how he was truly a good friend in return to her in this timeline, and proud of her alternate self for telling off when he wasn’t.

Georgie was glad to know she and Melanie had found each other even in this alternate chain of events- it felt romantic, to know that one thing that had stayed constant was their love. That they had saved each other in both versions of reality.

Melanie was fearless even with fear, and Georgie loved her for it. She loved Melanie’s strength, her determination, her intelligence, her creativity, her sharp edges even if sometimes they cut her deep in one of their rare arguments. Melanie had a knack for telling the truth in the most hurtful way possible- but Georgie valued the truth, and she loved Melanie even more, and she knew that Melanie was trying so hard to be soft for her. She was someone who was used to sharpening their teeth, not dulling them, but Melanie knew now that there were other ways to protect herself. 

Georgie could help do that, for Melanie. She could help her heal and in return Melanie helped her heal, was her courage on days that she felt like she had none, cared for her in the ways Georgie was so used to caring for someone else. 

They each had their own strength, but their strength together felt so much more unbreakable. Melanie liked to say you couldn’t have a sword without a blade and a hilt. Georgie wasn’t quite sure their relationship was comparable to a deadly weapon, but she would kiss Melanie every time she said it regardless.

Sasha’s voice sounded through the door, muffled. Jon or Martin must’ve woken up, or else Tim and Melanie were back already- but she didn’t hear another voice in response. Georgie turned on the faucet, making a show of washing her hands, and stepped back into the kitchen.

Sasha was on the phone, and upon seeing Georgie she pointed at it and rolled her eyes. Tim’s voice was on the other end, sounding sheepish, and she could just make out Melanie’s laugh in the background.

“They ran out of gas,” Sasha said dryly, and Georgie couldn’t help a smile, sitting on one of the nearby kitchen chairs and reaching for her coffee mug. It was one of Martin’s, bright yellow with a pattern of bees, and she rubbed a finger along where one of the many cracks showed its longevity. Everything in Martin’s flat was well-loved, betraying its owner’s sentimentality, and Georgie found it comforting and homey.

The man in question stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, looking bleary and reaching immediately for the tea kettle. Jon followed, looking a bit better than the day before. The bags under his eyes were more purses than duffels at least, and that was progress. 

“Morning,” he said, hiding a yawn as he spoke, and slid into a chair near Georgie. She tapped her ankle gently against his, and he smiled slightly at the touch.

“How’d you sleep?” Sasha asked brightly, having hung up the phone- Tim had probably told her he and Melanie had it handled. Georgie doubted that, but they were grown capable adults. They’d be fine, as long as they didn’t start bickering.

“Too many dreams, but other than that, fine,” Jon answered, accepting a mug of tea Martin passed him and shooting a single longing glance at the coffee Georgie was drinking. She slid him her mug when Martin’s attention was on Sasha, and he shot her a grateful smile.

“Were they… good dreams?” Georgie wasn’t sure she’d like the answer, and Jon’s shrug confirmed her suspicions.

“Let’s say I’m glad to see you’re all here. I didn’t see anything, no more visions, just- vague feelings. More echoes, but they’re getting fainter, I think.” Jon looked a bit less than thrilled to have this brought up, and Georgie tactfully let him off the hook, turning back to Sasha to continue an earlier conversation.

She watched Jon and Martin, just for a moment. They tended to orbit around each other, one caring for the other as needed, most comfortable when the other was within arm’s reach. Now Martin was glassy-eyed from lack of sleep, looking a bit muddled as he attempted to find the sugar, and Jon was behind him- reaching for the sugar and passing it to Martin, receiving a grateful kiss for his troubles. 

Georgie let herself relax. She was so glad Jon had called her, all those weeks ago- she was more so glad she was no longer the only person he could call. 

Martin slipped his arms around Jon for a moment, burying his face in Jon’s tangled dark hair, and released him just as quickly- he could almost see Jon’s face drop at the loss of contact and resisted the urge to grin at it. Jon could be almost petulant, at times, but he had a feeling their guests would not approve of excessive PDA in the kitchen. 

He slipped his hand into Jon’s as consolation and tugged him over to a kitchen bench, settling onto it and letting Sasha’s voice become background noise. Martin found himself missing the familiar back and forth with Tim, it having become such a soundtrack to his work and social life. 

It wasn’t long until the man in question arrived, an amused looking Melanie behind him. The two both looked out of breath, but triumphantly held large bags of food.

The rest of the morning passed quickly- Melanie and Georgie said their goodbyes after breakfast, and this left Sasha and Tim to make their exit soon after. Eventually Jon and Martin were once again alone in the apartment, and Martin kissed Jon eagerly, relishing another moment that was just theirs. He felt they deserved it, after all this. If nothing else, they should be allowed infinite moments to be together and to be safe. 

Jon reached up, cradling Martin’s jaw in his hand, his touch gentle and loving, running his thumb once gently over Martin’s lips. Martin couldn’t describe the feeling of being treated so carefully, like he was precious, fine china or a porcelain doll- it made him feel wanted, loved, protected, and he kissed Jon deeply, wanting to share as much of that feeling with him as he could. His heart felt like it could burst.

Jon smiled in return at him, moving his hands to link them around Martin’s neck, and they swayed for a moment to imaginary music, Martin’s arms pulling Jon as close as he could manage. It was almost startling, sometimes, whenever Martin forgot how thin Jon was, how his height put him at Martin’s shoulder, that someone so big in his life was so small in frame. It made him want to wrap Jon up in a blanket or something, protect him from any and all horrors of the world. He didn’t deserve any of it. None of them did, but it was what they had to live through, and so they did, taking joy from any moment they could. 

And there was joy. There was joy in this, in Jon’s fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck, in the scent of his apartment (candles and tea and lavender, mostly), in knowing he’d see his friends again soon enough. There was fear, always the fear of losing it, but he would fight for it, and although that gave him little reassurance he knew now there were those to fight with him.

“What are you thinking about?” Jon asked, his voice coated with sleep, and Martin pressed a kiss to his hair instead of answering for a moment. 

“That you need rest,” he said, which was not what he had been thinking about at all. Martin didn’t want a serious conversation, though, not now. He wanted to kiss Jon and hold Jon and drift off into blissfully normal dreams, dreams where they stayed in his flat forever, and he would continue to cook breakfast every morning, and they were safe in each other’s arms day in and day out. 

“Haven’t I had enough?” Jon asked, his voice bordering on petulant, and Martin couldn’t help a smile, tugging Jon yet closer to him as they swayed in a slow circle. 

“For me, Jon?” 

“Always, always,” Jon grumbled, but he leaned up to kiss Martin nonetheless.

Something was bothering Sasha.

Tim could tell- she was distracted when he attempted to engage her in conversation, chewing on the end of her braid in a childhood habit that only resurfaced when she was frustrated or nervous. He was guessing the former, based on the way she’d been furrowing her brow like she was puzzling something out that personally offended her. 

They were at Sasha’s flat, because they still hadn’t settled on an apartment to move into. Tim was adamant his own was perfect. Sasha argued his own smelled permanently of ash after one too many cooking incidents. Tim retorted that his cooking had improved under the careful tutelage of Youtube. Sasha was suspicious. Tim refused to admit she had good reason to be so. The argument continued. 

So their apartments had shared custody of their relationship. Tim’s on weekends, when Sasha had the patience to put up with it. Sasha’s on weekdays, when organization was crucial to get to work on time. Another compromise in a series of compromises that summed up how they managed to make it work.

Most of how they made it work was this: it was Sasha, slipping a hand into Tim’s when he could feel the anger rising in him. It was Tim, as he did now, leaning over Sasha’s stove and putting the kettle on, making her a cup of tea and adding a teaspoon of creamer exactly as she likes and bringing it to her. It was knowing someone so well you knew what they needed, and knowing they’d care for you in return. She smiled at him as he placed the mug in front of her, leaned up to press an appreciative kiss to his cheek, and blew the steam away from her glasses gently as she raised the cup to her lips.

“Sash, it’s boiling,” Tim raised an eyebrow at her as she took a sip and immediately spat it back into the cup. “You okay?”   
“Yeah, yeah- I just- Distracted.” She sighed, setting the tea back down and turning to Tim, drumming her fingers on the couch. “What are we going to do about all this?”

“All- what?” 

“Helen- the hallucinations, Tim, Jon screaming at me not to take his skin? Both of us dead in a not so distant future? Maybe- maybe not future,” she amended her words at Tim’s expression. “But alternate timeline. You know what I mean. We have to prepare, research, make sure things go better.”

“I agree, but I think you might need to cut Jon some slack. The man did just watch all of the traumatic events of his life play out on home video,” Tim pointed out, leaning back into the couch. He was still exhausted, like the tiredness was settling into his bones. 

“It’s not that I’m frustrated with Jon, it’s just that- I wish I could’ve seen the visions, or that I-”

“Could be having the visions yourself, because everything would get done faster if you were in charge?” Tim asked, and Sasha shot him a look with no real heat behind it.

“I know you’re teasing me, and for good reason, because yes!” She flopped backwards to let herself sink into the couch with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. “I know it sounds awful, but sometimes Jon just sits and waits for things to happen. These are monsters. We need to have a plan, to find out more about what they’re planning, we can’t afford to waste time-”

“Sleeping to make sure you don’t pass out isn’t wasting time,” Tim couldn’t help a laugh, tugging on Sasha’s arm to pull her upright and into his arms. She went without resistance, twisting to kiss him before relaxing into his embrace with a huff.

“I know, I know. You’re right. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it though.” 

“You can’t do everything yourself. Neither can Jon. Neither can any of us,” Tim kept his voice soft and even, rubbing a gentle circle onto Sasha’s shoulder with his thumb, and she placed her hand over his. 

He loved her so completely. He loved her now, her frustration and courage and energy and determination, and he loved her when she was all excitement and bubbliness and laughter, and he loved her when she was angry or sad or hurt or happy or anything. His relationship with Sasha was all shared strength. They were both completely capable on their own, but together they seemed to balance out Tim’s quick temper, Sasha’s impatience- even flaws that they shared were alleviated by the presence of the other. 

She shifted in his arms, turning to swing her legs onto either side of his so she sat in his lap facing him, and let her head drop onto Tim’s shoulder. He hugged her close to him, trying his best not to betray any of the anxiety that had been consuming him the past day or so. He knew she could tell, would ask later, would somehow manage to help him express his feelings in words, but right now he wanted to focus on caring for her. 

“I’m scared, Tim. Of what’s going to happen,” she whispered, her voice quiet enough he could’ve missed it if her head wasn’t tucked next to his ear, and his chest ached. He couldn’t deny he was scared as well. So many close calls, even in this timeline, times when he could’ve lost someone he loved, times when he himself barely escaped unscathed. They both were dotted with worm scars, for fuck’s sake, their lives had taken a turn for the supernaturally horrific. 

Tim couldn’t find the right words. He couldn’t promise safety, couldn’t promise protection in a way that meant anything when you were fighting monsters that could steal someone’s face. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I am too.” He offered, knowing as he said them that the words wouldn’t fix anything, and also knowing there weren’t any that would. “I promise I’ll do my best to keep you safe.” 

“Likewise, brave protector.” Her words were sarcastic but her tone was fond, and Tim leaned into her touch as she reached up to cup his face, letting her palm rest softly on his cheek.

In the other timeline he didn’t have this, Tim reminded himself. Of course they failed. Of course Jon stepped through the door, because any universe where he didn’t have this, Sasha safe in his arms, was a universe he wouldn’t last long in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this chapter real fast so it's super duper unedited, let me know if i fucked up anywhere pls!!!!!!!!!
> 
> if you're reading this, this message is for you: drink some water. i hope you have an amazing day today. i'm proud of you for making it this far and for making it through every day even when its hard. if you need to vent in the comments go right ahead, i won't mind. sometimes it helps just to type it out. make sure you take care of yourself.
> 
> my tumblr is @diffenbachiae if you'd like to come be my friend or ask me questions about this fic or whatever idc i just like to talk lol
> 
> also i just realized the last sentence of this chap sounds like foreshadowing its not i just idndt know how to end the chapter


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